Walking on Water
by Ms Starlight
Summary: AU: The war against the ogres is heating up, and Princess Emma has been dispatched to meet with a powerful nobleman whose magic powers might help win the battle. But her journey is interrupted when she is abducted by pirate captain Killian Jones, who has vowed vengeance against the Evil Queen, who he believes is responsible for his brother's death.
1. In Which a Princess Meets a Pirate

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,  
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free  
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,  
Survey our empire, and behold our home!  
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-  
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.  
-_The Corsair_, Lord Byron

Chapter 1: In Which a Princess Meets a Pirate

Emma had just sat down to eat her supper when the sound of feet pounding across the ship's deck above her cabin interrupted her. Curious, she tilted her head toward the ceiling, hoping to make something out above the racket.

"Come about!" she heard the captain bellow. "For gods' sakes, men! Move! She's got us broadside!"

Emma had only a second to wonder what was going on before the distant rapport of a canon blast echoed like thunder across the starboard side. Concerned, but not yet alarmed, she gripped the table in front of her as the ship began to turn, its timbers creaking against the weight of the sea. Soon, she knew, the captain would hoist their colors and this bit of excitement would be over. Hers was a royal ship, carrying papers from Queen Regina herself, granting her unmolested access through these waters. And, from what Emma understood of this kingdom, _no one_ dared disobey the Evil Queen.

Under normal circumstances, Emma would never have entered Regina's domain like this. Her parents, rulers of their own kingdom, had been rebuffing the queen's attempts at forming an alliance against the ogres for years. They wanted nothing to do with her or the way that she waged war, even if they shared a mutual enemy.

That was, at least, until Emma, their only daughter, had found herself a breath away from the war's bloody front.

She'd been sent with her entourage to meet with a powerful nobleman's son, Baelfire. Emma had met him once, briefly, during her coming-of-age ball years ago, and had apparently made an impression. When rumors began to spread that Bae's father had come into some powerful magic that could, perhaps, defeat the ogres once and for all, her father had wasted no time sending envoys, all of whom had returned with the same message, ostensibly from Bae, requesting a meeting with Emma.

She knew when she'd agreed to go that she'd probably end up fielding a marriage proposal. So it had almost been a relief when an urgent message reached her caravan informing her that ogres had attacked close by, pressing the battle lines suddenly west, right in her direction. She was to turn around, board a ship her father had arranged for her, and hurry home — a course which, as luck would have it, took her straight past Regina's kingdom.

Dusting her hands, Emma got up from the table, her uninspiring little meal of hard flour biscuits, dried meet, and uncooked root vegetables forgotten.

Another blast rocked the ship, this one much closer.

The door to her cabin flew open a moment later and the first mate rushed in, his face flushed.

"Princess Emma!"

"What's going on?"

"We are under attack."

She crossed her arms. "Yeah. I figured that out."

"You're to…um…stay here," he told her, apologetic. "Captain's orders. We are going to try to outrun them."

She didn't understand. "Why don't we just stop and show them our papers?"

"Because." His throat worked hard as he swallowed. "It's pirates, m'lady."

Emma stared at him, real fear beginning to curl in her stomach.

"Oh! Don't worry," the first mate said quickly. "Just stay here. We're smaller than them, which likely means that we're also faster. More maneuverable. They tried to ambush us as we came around a blind curve, hiding in a protected inlet close to shore, but it looks like we spotted them in time. They'll give us a good chase, but they won't be able to catch up."

He didn't look as confident as he sounded, but Emma waved him away rather than press further, knowing the captain would need all his hands.

She paced in her cabin as the mast groaned under the strain of their full sails. Still, the boom of the canons drew ever closer, though none of the shots found their way home. Even Emma, who knew next to nothing about sailing, quickly realized they wouldn't escape this encounter without a fight.

"At arms, men!" the captain cried out.

In her room, Emma searched for anything that she could use as a weapon. The sound of fighting filtered down from above: swords clashing, men yelling, feet stamping. Her hand closed around a heavy water jug she had left sitting on the table mere moments before a clatter on the stairs warned her that someone was coming.

She was ready.

The door opened and, without hesitation, she swung the pitcher right into the pirate's unsuspecting face, rotating the force of her body into the blow. It smashed in an explosion of water and pottery shards, sending the man toppling backwards, his eyes rolled up in his head, right into the man following behind him.

_Shit._

She'd hoped that there would only be one.

The second man, a toady looking guy wearing a floppy red hat, leapt over his fallen comrade's body and came at her, his teeth bared. Emma ducked out of the way, her hip banging painfully into the table and knocking it over with a crash, then scrambled to grab the first pirate's dropped sword.

Her fingers closed gratefully around the hilt.

Her attacker froze when she turned on him with it, the point of her sword poised dangerously close to his nethers.

"You're the princess?" he squeaked.

A small smile tugged at her lips; she'd always known that learning swordplay would come in handy some day. Parrying exactly the way her tutor, Lancelot, had taught her to, her form impeccable, she disarmed her opponent with a single sweep of her arm, sending his weapon flying across the room, then smashed the heavy hilt of her sword into his temple, crumpling him into a sad pile on the floor.

Without waiting to see if she had hit him hard enough to knock him out — that was something she'd never had the chance to test out in a real world scenario — she turned and bolted for the door.

But all ready, four other men rushed inside.

"_Really_? Son of a—"

All four came at her at once.

Emma struck out where she could, catching flesh at least once with her sword before it was knocked from her hand, and then she found herself flat on the floor, her head ringing, black spots clouding her vision.

"We've got her! Let's go!"

Strong hands hauled her to her feet and up the stairs, out into the bright evening sun. The cool sea breeze cleared her head, and she looked around to find the ship's deck in chaos: men rushing every which way, some still locked in battle, others flooding back across the narrow plank to the pirate ship, and black, acrid smoke obscuring everything. She glanced up to find one of the mainsails on fire, the flames spreading fast, threatening to engulf the mast as well.

"Back to the _Roger_! Go! Go!"

Emma kicked her feet, but they had her fast, relaxing their grip only to heave her up onto the plank and shove her across the gap of open sea onto the waiting deck of the pirate ship. Her knees and hands stung where she landed.

She'd barely gotten her wits about her, and only got one quick look over her shoulder at the little ship her father had chartered to bring her home, now beat up and broken, before the pirates manhandled her below deck. Dazed, she stumbled down the ladder, missing the last step. The door slammed shut behind her, a bolt sliding firmly into place.

Underneath her, she felt the pirate ship begin to pull away, its speed impressive as it cut through the water, making its escape.

What the hell had just happened?

She massaged her head with one hand where it ached.

_Pirates._ They should have wanted loot. Should have taken their time plundering her ship, searching for treasure. Instead they had boarded, abducted her, and then fled. Why? They'd had her ship at heel. It had been ripe for the picking.

The cabin they had locked her in was small but bright and clean, its floors and walls whitewashed, with a narrow bed against one wall and rows and rows of books against the other. A wooden table, it's feet nailed conspicuously to the floor, took up the middle of the space, its surface covered in papers, knickknacks, and the remains of a hastily consumed meal similar to the one she'd just left behind.

For a while, Emma sat crouched, waiting, a panther ready to pounce, but no one disturbed her.

And then, finally, with the sun slanting long shadows through the narrow windows, the door above her slid open and a man stepped through, down the ladder. Her gaze traveled up from his feet as he took the rungs one by one: black boots, blank pants, and a long, black coat, the only color in his ensemble being a red waistcoat with polished brass buttons. On his hands, she spotted more rings than even her mother dared wear to court.

The captain, she figured.

He dropped all the way down into the cabin and Emma froze, taken off guard by the way he smiled at her, brimming with charm and incredibly, unfairly handsome — his dark hair mussed by the wind, his eyes the bluest she'd ever seen. Her plan of attack forgotten, all of her guile temporarily defeated, she merely stared.

"So," he said slowly, his thumbs hooking on his belt as he leaned back against the wall. "You're the princess. You're Emma."

She crossed her arms tight over her chest. "You've heard of me?"

"In passing." He stepped away from the wall, closer to her. "My name's Killian Jones. But you can call me Captain."

Emma struggled not to step back away from him as he approached. "What do you want with me, _Captain_?"

He smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Well, whatever it is," she said, squaring her shoulders, gathering up all of her bravado, "you're not going to get it without a fight."

His blue eyes narrowed with amusement, his teeth drawing his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment as he continued to smile. "Mmm. You're a tough one, lass."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Aye. Happily, it does. You'd make a hell of a pirate, love. Took down three of my crew all by yourself. Which is more fight than anyone else on that ship put up."

"I'm surprised that you dared come down here to confront me all by yourself then," Emma retorted.

"I do love a challenge," he replied, entirely unintimidated, his soft, lilting accent growing more pronounced. "You know, I had planned to let you have your run of the ship, but seeing as you've proven so surprisingly resourceful, I think it would be best if you stayed here for now, in my quarters, and away from the crew."

"This is your room?"

"The best on the ship."

She looked around, taking in the decor once more, then back to him. "Seems a little drab for a pirate captain. No booty?"

He laughed. "Well, there's _you_, darling."

At the innuendo, Emma felt her cheeks flush. No one had ever dared talk to her like that. It grated at the same time as it set off a sick little twist of pleasure in her heart. She was not this man's princess, she realized, and he wouldn't treat her like one — which was something she found unexpectedly exciting. But she also felt suddenly, disturbingly vulnerable with all the familiar power of her title stripped away. She didn't quite know how to reconcile the two feelings into a coherent response.

"Are you planning to ransom me back to my father?" she finally managed.

He didn't answer, turning instead to pick up the plate that had been left on the table. "You should eat," he suggested, handing it to her.

Emma didn't want to do anything he asked her to, but moved to take the plate from him anyway, like she couldn't help but do as he asked. The smirk on the captain's lips dropped away as he looked down at her hand. Before she could react, he whisked the plate away and took her outstretched hand with his own instead.

"Hey! What are you—?"

"Your hand. It's hurt." His fingers wrapped tighter around her wrist, warm and strong, and he drew her closer.

"It's fine."

She hadn't even noticed the cut, though now that he had pointed it out she felt it stinging on her palm.

"No. It's not. Let me help you."

"Help me? Are you kidding? After violently abducting me, now you're suddenly a gentleman?"

"I'm always a gentleman," he replied, sounding half joking, half sincere.

He put the plate down and picked up a metal flask instead. Emma tried to jerk her hand away, uncomfortable with the way that he was holding onto her, not like a ruthless pirate captor, but gentle and confident, like a friend or a lover. Her whole arm felt warm, and the feeling was spreading, curling dangerously into her chest. He lifted the flask to his mouth, uncorking it with his teeth. Emma watched as he carefully turned her hand over, palm up and examined the wound, completely bewildered as to why she hadn't pulled away yet and punched him right in his cocky, handsome face for daring to touch her, until he clucked his tongue softly and titled the flask, pouring a clear liquid across her hand.

It burned like a brand. Like pure, liquid fire.

She let out a litany of oaths, fluent enough to impress any sailor.

"What the hell is that?"

"Rum. A bloody waste of it, too." He looked amused again, his blue eyes crinkled at the edges, his white teeth bright against the backdrop of the dark stubble dusting his jaw. He snatched a bit of cloth off the table and began to wind it around her hand as he talked. "Now, darling, let me tell you about how things work on my ship. I give the orders. You follow them."

"I'm not a member of your crew," Emma reminded him. "I'm a prisoner. And I won't be following _any_ of your orders."

"I was rather hoping that you would be my guest."

"Not a chance."

He dropped her hand, fully bandaged now, and gave her a long, appraising look. She got the distinct impression that he saw straight through her, past her tough exterior to the woman beneath, far away from home, powerless, scared, and lost.

"As you wish," he finally said, dipping his head in a mocking bow. "But don't say I didn't give you a choice, love."

He turned to leave, heading back to the ladder, and Emma suddenly remembered that she had planned to beat the ever-living hell out of whichever pirate dared to speak to her first. Her hands fisted at her sides, the injured one pinching, closing tight around the bandage the captain had so tenderly applied, and she watched him go, lithe and graceful, his coat streaming up and out of the room behind him like a blackbird taking wing.

_Damn it._

_Damn __**him**_.

What was she supposed to do now?

Emma circled, intensely aware of his voice issuing commands up above, until finally she gave in, sat down at the table, and pulled over the plate of food. It tasted better than what she'd gotten on board her last ship, the bread marginally softer, and with sweet slices of fruit to accompany it rather than hard vegetables. With a shrug, she ate it all, then picked up the flask of rum Captain Jones had left sitting open, lifted it to her lips, and took a drink.

The liquor settled warm in her stomach.

Not a bad batch, she admitted to herself, her tongue swishing across her teeth, but not as good as what she was used to getting in the dwarf bars back home.

This Captain Jones had a few more surprises in store for him, she decided. He thought he had her figured out, thought he knew what to expect from the princess he'd captured. But he had no idea. Killian Jones's life was about to become very, very complicated.

* * *

The _Jolly Roger_ made good time as she powered through calm waters, sailing as fast as she could out of the Evil Queen's realm and into the wild, uncharted expanse of the open sea. Killian stood at the wheel in the dark, the moon and stars illuminating the deck below where a handful of his men milled about, tending to the rigging and talking quietly amongst themselves about the stunt they'd pulled, ambushing the royal ship and capturing Princess Emma earlier that afternoon.

It had been a rash decision, one Killian hadn't had time to properly think through.

Now he felt as if he had a dragon by the tail.

And he wasn't sure what to do next.

The princess was not at all what he had expected.

She was beautiful, of course. He'd anticipated that. Her blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and soft face befitted that of the daughter of Snow White, once rumored to be most beautiful woman in all the realms. But he hadn't expected someone so full of fire, so brave, and strong. He hadn't expected a full grown woman, traveling in plain boots, black pants, and a plain leather jacket rather than her handsome palace finery. He hadn't expected her to leave Smee with a concussion, or Mullins with a magnificently swollen face, or Starkey with a stab wound to the thigh.

He sure as hell hadn't expected to _like_ her.

The chill of the night made him shiver, and he wondered what she was doing down below in his quarters. Looking through his things most likely, searching for a weapon to take his head off with the next time he dared pass through the doorway. She wouldn't find one. Although, even if she did, he didn't honestly believe that she'd kill him. Hurt him maybe. But Princess Emma was no murderer.

He sighed to himself as he looked up at the sky, getting his bearings, considering his options.

All he knew for certain was that the Evil Queen wanted this woman, which made it his duty to deny her. Thwarting the queen had been the only thing on his mind when he'd ordered the _Jolly Roger_ to lie in wait for the princess's ship. He'd learned of the princess's journey, and of the queen's plans to snatch her, from one of his contacts in the queen's inner circle. It had taken precious little thought to arrive at the dastardly plot to simply get the princess first.

But he had no idea _why_ the Evil Queen wanted Emma.

So, that left him with a choice: to hold onto her until he found out, in case he might be able to foil the queen's plans even further; or turn south and return the princess safe and sound to her own kingdom and hope that her father wouldn't have him put to death for the courtesy.

_Bloody fool idea._

If his brother were still alive, he was certain he'd have earned himself a firm smack upside the head today.

At the thought of Liam, his grip tightened on the wheel. Gods, he still missed his brother dearly. He kept expecting some of the pain to diminish with time, for the memory of watching his brother die in his arms to fade, to stop haunting him. But if anything, it had grown more vivid. He thought of it _more_. And he felt Liam's absence like a gnawing ache in his heart that refused abate. He could barely remember not feeling this way, his heady few years as his brother's trusted Lieutenant in the Queen's Navy more like a story he'd heard rather than a life he'd lived.

He scowled.

The Evil Queen needed to be brought to justice. His brother's ghost demanded vengeance.

Killian had vowed to do both.

Whatever that meant for Princess Emma, he'd figure out soon enough. For now, he changed course to head obliquely southward, giving himself time to think while also making progress back toward Emma's home, keeping her far from the queen's clutches.

For most of the night, he remained on deck, tending to the ship, watching the waves. The moon made a wide arc through the sky before dipping into the sea just before dawn. His eyes ached with exhaustion and his feet felt numb with the cold. When the crew began to stir, men appearing once again on deck, he fired off his orders for the day (maintain heading, keep it steady, call for him if anything came up), and, after removing and securing his sword, retreated back to his quarters, confident that the _Roger_ was in good hands. Some of his crew — not all, perhaps a third — had been navy men also serving under his brother. They, at least, cared about this ship just as much as he did, and had loved Liam enough to follow the path to piracy Killian had laid out following his death. He trusted them as much as he could anyone.

When he dropped down the familiar ladder in the pre-dawn murk, finding his way by muscle memory more than sight, he found the princess in his bed.

The sight made him smile more than it should have, pleased some deep, primal part of his soul.

His pleasure immediately vanished, however, when she sat up, bolting straight from complete unconsciousness to battle ready in the blink of an eye, and came at him.

He didn't even see what she had in her hand until she was almost on top of him, swinging it like a deadly, golden scythe — his brother's sextant, the one which had lead them to Neverland, to dreamshade, and to death.

Killian fell back against the ladder, just out of Emma's reach, and the sextant narrowly missed his face.

"Come now, darling," he said, ducking so that he could grab hold of her. He managed to catch hold of both her arms and used his grip to shake the sextant loose. It landed with a heavy thud on the floor. "We can fight, if that's what you want. But I fight fair."

"Well, I don't," she bit out, her green eyes on fire.

He tugged her closer, tucking her hands and forearms tight against his chest, very aware that his heart was racing and that she could probably feel it. When she raised her knee, he barely managed to jerk his hips out of the way in time.

"What are you hoping to accomplish here?" he asked her, backing her up, trying to find a place to pin her, to keep her under control. "We're out at sea. There's no where for you to run. What good do you think this will do you?"

The back of her thighs hit the table with a thud, and her jaw worked back and forth as she stared up at him, unblinking. "It think it would make me feel better."

"I have no intention of hurting you," he told her, hoping she could sense his honesty.

The tension in her body relaxed a fraction. "Then tell me what you want with me."

How to explain, when even he didn't know?

"It's not so much that I _want_ you, love," he replied, his voice dropping low, "as it is that I don't want someone _else_ to have you."

Her mouth fell open, making his gaze drop to her lips.

"You're…" She couldn't seem to complete the sentence. "Gods, you're not a gentleman. You're a…"

"A pirate?" he supplied.

Once upon a time, he'd been more. A man of honor. A man with a code. But not anymore. All of that had slipped away after leaving the navy, believing that at least thieves kept their own form of honor and good form, only to discover that they were really just the ruthless criminals they seemed. He'd had to become one of them to survive, to follow through on his quest to see the queen overthrown, his brother avenged. It didn't mean he liked what he'd become. But he'd come to accept it.

"I'm tired," he announced, letting the princess go. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he turned away from her and walked toward the bed. When he sat down on the edge of the mattress, he found her still standing where he'd left her, her bottom perched on the edge of the table, her hands clasped in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What does it look like?" He shrugged out of his coat, then bent down to pull off his boots, before swinging his feet up onto the bed and stretching out.

Emma stomped over to him. "You're going to sleep?"

"Aye. Did you forget that this is my room, love?"

She looked down at him, her hands on her hips. "You can't sleep."

"I've been up all night, darling. I assure you, I'll be sleeping just fine."

"But I'm standing _right here_. Aren't you worried I'll try to hurt you?"

He rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. "No."

She huffed, her exasperation positively adorable. "Why? I just attacked you. I could do it again."

"I will take my chances."

The mattress and pillow felt so good underneath him, still warm and sweet smelling from where she'd been sleeping on it, he almost didn't care whether she tried to beat his brains out with the sextant again. He sensed, however, that being forced to look at him first would prevent her from doing much of anything to harm him, especially since he would be unarmed and asleep. Vulnerable. Emma claimed that she didn't fight fair, but he knew she had a strict code all her own. And, despite the rude welcome, he also didn't think that she entirely hated him.

"What am I supposed to do while you nap?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"You'll find something."

"Won't I keep you up?"

He rolled back over just enough to look up at her. "Are you asking to join me?"

Rather than answer, she huffed again and walked away. Killian pulled a loose blanket up over his hips and settled in, the sound of Emma moving about his quarters easily blending into those of the crew shuffling about up above. It was a comforting cadence. And he fell asleep without much hassle.

* * *

From a safe distance, Emma watched the pirate captain sleep. At first, she had thought that he was merely testing her, pretending to sleep, waiting to see what she would do. But his breathing evened out, his whole body relaxed, and he didn't move even when she walked back over to the bed and stood right beside it.

What to do?

The man had abducted her. He was a criminal, probably a murderer, most definitely a thief. But Emma had very grey views on morality — most likely, she'd always thought, the result of being raised by two people who saw everything in stark black and white, wholly good or wholly bad. So while she knew, logically, this Killian Jones was a "very bad man"…he hadn't exactly done anything bad to her. Yet.

She sighed, wishing that he'd get the hell back up so that she could demand answers or fight him fair.

For a few minutes, she knocked around the cabin, making no effort to be quiet, hoping it might rouse him. When it didn't, she decided to just ignore him.

Captain Jones had a lot of interesting things stowed away in his quarters. Before falling asleep herself the night before, she had looked through everything he had out on the table, reading through all of his papers (none of which had turned out to be of a personal nature) and turning over every trinket. She still wasn't sure what the golden thing she'd tried to knock him out with was, only that it had been heavy and solid. She picked it up off the floor where he'd shaken it from her hand and put it back where she'd found it, pausing only for a moment to trace her finger over the beautiful winged horse design.

A big chest sat at the foot of the bed, but a lock kept her from opening it. Carefully, she lifted his heavy leather coat off the foot of the bed, half expecting him to sit up at any moment and cut her hand off for daring to touch it. He didn't. So she sat down cross legged on the floor, pooling it in her lap, and began rummaging through the pockets, hoping to find a key. Unfortunately, she only found an old slip of paper, folded several times over and tucked into an inside breast pocket. Curious, she flattened the sheet across her legs and found a painting of a plant: weedy looking and thorny, the word "dreamshade" scribed across the top.

_Okay…_

Whatever the hell _that_ was about.

She folded it back up, returned it to the pocket she found it inside, and then, on a compulsion, folded the coat into a neat square and placed it on top of the chest. Neat and tidy.

Next, she set about browsing through his books.

The collection impressed her. For every volume filled with star charts and maps, she found another of poetry, and several narrative novels (a form which had only recently popular back home, though Captain Jones's books looked older than any novels she'd seen in the palace and very well read). She only recognized a few titles. All the rest were delightfully new. She plucked one off the shelf and flipped through the pages, pausing to read just enough to get a feel for the story…something about a group of noble knights all seeking a magical cup.

Sounded interesting enough. Good enough to pass the time, anyway. She settled down on the floor at the end of the bed, her back to the chest and a spare pillow under her bottom, and let the book fall open to the first page in her lap.

A name was scrawled there just inside the front cover.

_Liam Jones_.

Liam? Was that supposed to be short somehow for Killian? Or was Liam someone else? His father? Uncle? Brother?

She glanced up at him, unable to stifle her curiosity.

Who was this man? This pirate captain who had kidnapped her but not looted her ship? Who kept her locked up in his quarters but never laid a hand on her? She'd expected someone more menacing. More brutal. Certainly not someone who read poetry. Or bandaged the hands of his injured princess prisoners. She believed him when he told her that he had no plans to hurt her.

The ability was there though. He could be cruel if he wanted. He had a darkness about him, lurking just beneath the surface. But he suppressed it. At least, he did around her.

She still had no idea what he wanted.

Perhaps, she thought, he didn't plan to hurt her directly, but was even now on the way to deliver her to someone else who would. Someone with a vendetta against her parents. Or someone who wanted leverage. Or, hell, maybe just someone with a pet dragon who had a taste for princess.

_Don't let him fool you_, she reminded herself. _You can't trust him._

When the time was right, she'd make a move.

But right now?

She leaned her head back against the pillow of his coat, the leather soft and warm and musky, propped the novel open on top of her knees, and began to read.


	2. In Which Things Get Complicated

"Steer to shore!" — they sail. "Do this!" — 'tis done:  
"Now form and follow me!" — the spoil is won.  
Thus prompt his accents and his actions still,  
And all obey and few inquire his will;  
To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye  
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply.  
-_The Corsair_, Lord Byron

Chapter 2: In Which Things Get Complicated

Killian woke to find Emma sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, the top of her blonde head visible just past his boot. One of his books sat perched open on top of her bent knees, the thick stack of pages under her thumb suggesting that she'd been there, lingering close by, for quite some time. When he rolled over onto his back, she glanced up at him, then started at finding him awake, watching her.

"I see you managed to keep your hands off me," he quipped, his voice still thick with sleep. "Excellent show of restraint, love."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. The only thing I'm _restraining_ is my desire to punch you in the face."

He arched an eyebrow and spread his hands.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. Do what you will with me."

Refusing to rise to the bait, she fixed her green eyes on him for a long, expressionless moment, and then looked away, back to her book, as if she hadn't even heard him. It was a better reaction, he supposed, than the way she'd tried to take his head off before. But for some reason, it left him disappointed. Brushing the feeling aside with a shake of his head, he got up.

"Looks to be late morning," he declared as glanced out the windows above the bed. "Are you hungry?"

She didn't even look up from her book. "Not if it means that I'll be eating with you."

"Then you will be getting very hungry indeed."

It wouldn't do any good, he thought, to push her. So he settled for climbing the ladder out of his quarters, popping his head out onto deck, and demanding breakfast. Smee appeared a minute later with a tray fashioned out of a wooden plank, covered in an assortment of food, including oatmeal with molasses, flour biscuits, several pieces of salted pork, a lime cut into quarters, a small jug of fresh water, and, of course, a full flask of rum.

"Thank you, Mister Smee."

He stepped back down the ladder, careful not to drop anything, and then unloaded everything off the plank onto the table. The chair legs squealed against the floor as he pulled it out, positioning it sideways so that he could sit facing Emma.

"Come. Eat with me," he said as he picked up the bowl of oatmeal and stirred the molasses in. With his foot, he scooted out the chair across from him. "You're only punishing yourself, darling."

Over the top of the book, he saw her eyebrows draw together into a crafty arch. Slowly, she dog eared her page, folded the book shut, and cradled it to her chest. He had no idea what she was about and found himself bracing, preparing to fight if need be, until she asked, her eyelashes shuttering her eyes, "Who's Liam?"

The question, easily as effective as a physical blow, made Killian's heart jerk.

"Pardon?"

"Liam Jones." She got up off the floor, walked over to him, and laid the book out on the table so that it opened to the first page. Her finger fell on Liam's name, penned there long ago in his neat, precise hand. "He must mean something to you, or you wouldn't have so many of his things."

How painfully perceptive of her to notice.

"He was my brother."

"_Was_?"

"Yes."

She sat down, her knee brushing his under the table as she reached for a biscuit. "Older or younger?"

"Older."

"Was he a pirate, too?"

Killian shifted uncomfortably. "Let's not discuss this right now, shall we?"

"If you don't want to talk, then you shouldn't insist on taking your meals with me," she replied before taking a large, self-satisfied bite.

_Touché._

"If you want to talk, Princess, then perhaps we should talk about you." He nudged the plate closer to her so that she wouldn't have to lean so far. "Such as why I found you in the Evil Queen's realm to begin with. It was my understanding that your two kingdoms don't exactly have friendly relations."

"They don't. I was just passing through. Heading home."

"From where?"

With a flutter of her eyelashes, she replied, parroting back what he'd said to her the day before: "Wouldn't you like to know."

He very much would, actually. Frowning, he searched his mind for anything that could have drawn the princess out of her kingdom and north, across Regina's. There wasn't much up that way: the ogres had made certain of that, leaving the battle scarred northern kingdoms bloody, ragged, and hard. Although he had heard rumors recently that at least one small corner of land remained untouched, lorded over by someone he'd only ever heard referred to as the Dark One.

Surely, the king and queen would not have dispatched their daughter to negotiate with someone like that.

So it had to be something more mundane, less dangerous. Something only the princess could do.

Considering her age…

"You were meeting a suitor," he guessed.

The surprised tilt to her head let him know he'd hit close to the mark.

"He must have been quite the beast to make you return home with such haste."

She picked up a slice of lime and shrugged. "For whatever good it did me. Out of the arms of one beast and into the arms of another. Right?"

"You're not in my arms _yet_, love."

"Try _never_, Captain," she replied with a sour downturn of her mouth — most definitely the lime's fault, he thought. The tone of her voice struck him as more teasing than repulsed.

With a light heart, he let her finish the last of the oatmeal, then ate some lime himself before washing it all down with a drag of rum from the flask. It had been a long time since he'd sat down to a meal with anyone. Not since Liam had died. Women had come and gone from his cabin, for sure, but none that he'd bothered to feed. Or keep around for more than a few hours. The sort he tended to meet, in bars and along the docks, weren't exactly the sort.

"I have business to tend to up on deck," he told her.

"And you want me to stay here the rest of the day," Emma guessed. "Are you going to keep me locked up like this forever?"

"You _are_ a prisoner, darling."

"Yes. But you said yourself, there's nowhere I can go. Even if I were to leave your cabin, there's nothing but open ocean out there."

He had to give her that point. But…

"There is also my crew. Most of whom are not as fond of you as I am."

Emma's back straightened. "I can hold my own."

"I don't doubt that. I'm more worried about them."

The suggestion of a genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, adding a beguiling gentleness to her whole face. If possible, it made her even more beautiful.

"What if I promise to behave?" she asked. "I can be good."

"Ah. But, m'lady…" He leaned close, his fingertips sliding across the table top until they brushed the edge of her hand, and winked. "I rather fancy you when you're bad."

Rather than look scandalized, Emma merely released a long suffering sigh, as if she had been fielding come-ons like his her entire life. And maybe she had, though couched in loftier terms — princes and noblemen wooing her with flowery words and poetry that all amounted to the same, rude thing with all the finery stripped away. Duly impressed, and a little concerned by how easy it could be to get used to having her around, Killian got up from the table and moved to grab his coat.

It wasn't on the bed where he had left it.

Instead, he found it neatly folded on top of his trunk.

Apparently, his person was the _only_ thing she'd managed not to touch while he slept.

He snapped the coat out, then shrugged it on before heading to the door. Emma was still sitting at the table, calmly eating when he left, locking the door behind him. Immediately, Smee trotted across the deck over to him, one hand holding his hat on against the brisk ocean breeze.

"Captain! We've held steady, just as you requested, but progress is slow. We're going against the wind, sir."

Killian nodded and climbed the steps up to the helm, taking over the wheel from his quartermaster, Ed Teyente. He swung it experimentally back and forth a few degrees, trying to get a feeling for which direction he wanted to go, and then made his decision. He'd take Emma home. Return her to her kingdom and hope that by kidnapping her to begin with, he'd at least managed to put a wrench in Regina's plans.

With a glance up at the sky to orient himself, he called out a new heading: due south, tacking aggressively into the northerly breeze to increase their speed.

"We'll be ransoming the princess then, Captain?" Smee asked.

"Aye. That we will."

He'd have to find a friendly place to dock just outside the kingdom, from where he could send word to the king to come and fetch his daughter. A few options came to mind, some friendlier than others. He'd have to consult his maps first — Killian hadn't spent much time in the area, having had no need to enter Emma's kingdom before.

"I'm sure she'll bring a tidy sum, sir," Smee said, all a-glow with equal parts avarice and cruel satisfaction. The dark, swollen bruise on side of his left eye, where Emma had knocked him unconscious, gave the expression an added patina of menace.

Killian waved him away. "Back to work, mate."

It'd be a hard day, sailing against the wind. But he wanted to get Emma home as fast as possible — not just because so many of his crew had reason to hate her, or because he kept finding so many reasons to like her, but because he knew that he needed to beat the Evil Queen in getting word to Emma's parents. He needed to control the situation, and the flow of information regarding Emma's abduction. Luckily, the ill winds would work just as much against the queen's ships as they were his. And none in all the realms was faster than the _Jolly Roger_.

Surely, this once, he had the bloody bitch beat.

* * *

Snow White paused to linger in the doorway as she passed by her daughter's empty room. Several weeks had passed since she had seen Emma off, and not a single moment had passed since in which she hadn't felt the yawning absence in the castle, a shadow that grew bigger and darker every day. Snow had disliked the idea of sending Emma to meet with this Baelfire person from the start. It didn't sit right. Not just letting Emma go off on her own, but making deals with this Rumplestiltskin character at all.

From everything she'd heard about him, and about the small patch of land he held under his protection, the man had vast magical powers.

And Snow knew, had learned early in her life, that all magic came with a price. And whatever Rumplestiltskin had paid for his, whatever kind of monster it had surely turned him into, wasn't something she wanted to bet her heart or her kingdom on.

In Snow's mind, the ogres had just been a convenient excuse to bring her daughter home and put a stop to all of it.

"You know, she'll be back in a week or so."

"David." She smiled at her husband and offered her hand. "You startled me."

He drew her close enough to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Emma can take care of herself. She's _your_ daughter."

"_Our_ daughter," she reminded him. "And, I know. I'm not worried. I'm just…I'll be glad to have her home again."

"Yeah." David peered into Emma's room and let out a sigh. "I miss her, too."

"I suppose we should probably get used to the feeling. She's a grown woman now. And she's not going to stay here with us forever. Soon she'll marry, have children of her own…"

"Emma doesn't seem interested in that."

"Only because she hasn't met the right person. But, she will."

In any other kingdom, Emma would have been slotted into an arranged marriage years ago. But Snow believed in true love, and she would have nothing less for her daughter. That Emma had now managed to pass through adolescence and into full-grown womanhood without ever picking a suitor had the whole kingdom talking. She'd gained quite the reputation as the princess whose heart could not be won — as the beautiful, untouchable ice maiden born of Snow White.

Of course, she had also gained a reputation for drinking with the dwarves and for being almost as good with a sword as her father.

Snow was proud of it all.

"We should have a feast to welcome her home," she decided. "After living on ship rations for so long, I'm sure a home cooked meal will hit just the spot."

David nodded. "Sure. I'll mention it to the staff." His arm snaked around her waist. "Now, how about you come to bed?"

They walked together, arm in arm, back to their own chamber. While David left to shave and bathe, Snow changed into her nightgown and sat down to brush out her hair. The evening ritual had her in a comfortable trance, staring at her own reflection in the mirror, when the surface of the glass suddenly fogged over. She dropped her brush when a familiar face appeared, ruby-lipped and smiling, the mirror showing the trailing edge of a black lace dress hugging still youthful curves.

"Hello, Snow," Regina purred.

There was no room for pleasantries. Not with this woman.

"What do you want?" Snow asked.

"Just to deliver some news," Regina replied. "It's always easier to hear things like this from _family_."

"Things like what?"

Regina leaned in, her face growing larger in the mirror.

"It seems your daughter's ship ran into some trouble yesterday."

Snow's heart clenched. "Trouble? You gave us your word that you'd let her ship pass through unharmed."

"Oh, it wasn't me."

"Then…who?"

"Pirates. A certain pirate, in fact, named Killian Jones. He's a bug I've been trying to squash for years."

"Is she…?"

"Dead, most likely," Regina replied with a dramatic pout. "Captain Jones is the worst of them all. The worst human being you can imagine. Worse, even, than me."

Snow felt as if she might faint. Her fingers gripped the edge of her dressing table to keep her steady. Was it possible? Was Regina telling the truth? Snow couldn't fathom it. Couldn't process the idea that her daughter, her only child, the one creature she loved the most in this world might be…

_Emma. Oh, please. Gods, no._

She did the only thing she could — made a last, desperate grasp at her sanity, and screamed.

"**_David!_**"

* * *

Several days passed without much change. Emma stayed locked up in the captain's quarters on board the pirate ship, seeing and speaking to no one but Killian Jones. Most of the time, he left her alone: staying up on deck and only coming down to take periodic cat naps. Sometimes she'd wake up in the middle of the night to find him snoozing on the floor beside the bed, only to be gone by morning. They took every meal together (something he insisted on), and she always pressed him, trying to learn more about him, about his ship, and about what he planned to do with her.

To his credit, Captain Jones never gave much of anything away.

She had gathered that his brother, Liam, had died tragically. But it was a sore subject, one he was extraordinarily disinclined to discuss and one that she didn't want to push him on.

She had also gathered by continuing to browse through Liam's books, that he _hadn't_ in fact been a pirate, but an officer in the queen's navy. Quite a few books of star charts and maps on the shelves bore Regina's royal seal, marking them as the sort of government issued material that Emma was intimately familiar with. It made Liam an easy man to imagine: starched and stern, completely aboveboard — the complete opposite of his little brother, Killian. It amused her to think of the two interacting, having to love each other and put up with each other in the way only family could.

Killian spent their meals pressing her for information as well. And she gave away just as little.

He seemed very interested in the politics between her kingdom and Regina's. And, tangentially, whenever it came up (which it _often_ did) of her mysterious suitor. She hadn't bothered to disabuse him of the notion that she'd been off traveling in search of a husband because it had, at least in part, been true. Bae obviously had some interest in her. But also, she liked the way it always took their conversation off track, away from tender subjects where she had to play coy, careful not to reveal too much, and into easy banter where she could relax.

Truthfully, Emma thought she might be getting a little _too_ relaxed.

She was asleep, the book she had been reading lying open next to her on the bed, when Killian dropped down the ladder.

"Up and about, Princess. I've brought you something."

She knuckled at her eyes, surprised to find it bright and sunny outside the narrow windows above the bed. It was getting difficult to keep track of time down here.

"What?" She yawned and sat up. "A bowl and a rag? How thoughtful."

"A bath." He sat the ceramic basin down on the table, dropped the cloth into the water, then deposited a wedge of tallow colored soap next to it.

"I think I'll pass," she said.

"Do what you like, but I remind you again, my dear: you'd only be punishing yourself."

"Think of it as pirate repellant." She smiled.

His eyebrow shot up and he crossed the room to stand next to her. "Doesn't seem to be working, love."

For the first time since bringing her aboard, he hadn't taken off his sword before coming down to talk to her. Emma let her gaze flicker down to the hilt on his hip once before meeting his eyes again. A cocky grin spread slowly across his lips, as he must have guessed that she'd glanced at something else down below. Emma decided, on an insane whim, to run with it. He didn't often let his guard down like this.

She got up off the bed and took the one step required to bring her within his personal space, just a fraction of an inch between them.

"You know," she said slowly, her voice low, "I'm a princess. I'm not accustomed to bathing myself."

His cheeks flushed almost imperceptibly.

"I suppose I could be convinced to render assistance," he replied, his voice just as low.

Despite herself, Emma felt her heart quicken. Because if Captain Jones was anything, he was handsome. And the thought of him touching her, undressing her…it should have repulsed her, should have made her itch to break his nose. Instead, it filled her with dark, hot excitement. Maybe _because_ of how wrong it would be. How utterly and totally forbidden.

"I believe it is part of your duty as captain," she continued, no longer needing to feign the breathiness of her voice, "to be certain that your captives are well _taken care of_."

The look that he gave her, his blue eyes focused hard on her face, his lips slightly parted, hair freshly and dashingly mussed by the wind, tension seeming to radiate off him in waves, almost made Emma forget what she was about. When she reached for him, he flinched. Carefully, she slipped her hands past the edges of his coat, toward his hips, stepping closer…moving in, her breath coming fast, until finally her palm brushed the warm hilt of his sword.

"Ah." His hand snapped down to settle over hers, gripping it hard. "Nice try, Princess."

They stood like that for a long moment, eyes locked, neither moving.

Finally, Emma broke the silence: "I haven't given up on trying to defeat you."

He patted the top of her hand and took a step back, out of her reach. "Darling, I would despair if you did."

With a dramatic swish of his coat, he turned and vanished back up the ladder, quick as a bird.

Emma released a breath and rocked on her feet, her balance not quite right.

The ocean's fault. Surely. Rogue waves, or something.

Secure in her privacy as she could hope, she padded over to the wash basin and picked up the bar of soap. It felt like good quality and had a vaguely sweet, vegetable smell. Quickly, Emma washed her face and hair, then stripped down so that she could soap and sponge her entire body. The water in the wash basin looked wretched by the time she finished: grey and frothy. She, meanwhile, felt magnificently refreshed.

Dressed again, she walked back to the window and looked out at the endless expanse of sea, wishing she could be above deck with everyone else — with him — letting the wind blow dry her hair.

_I'm going to go crazy down here,_ she thought.

Though, in light of her most recent failed escape attempt…

Maybe she was all ready there.

* * *

Killian spent most of the night up on deck. Every time he turned to head down to his quarters, the memory of Emma standing close, reaching out to touch him, made him turn right back around. That it had all been a ruse made no difference. It had still left him on edge.

And none of it would have happened if, like a bloody idiot, had hadn't forgotten to take off his sword before going to see her. Killian swept a hand through his hair, still unable to believe that he'd been so sloppy. It was getting entirely too easy to relax around Emma. She had to go. The sooner the better.

Late into the night, when exhaustion finally overtook him, he entrusted the helm to Mullins and snuck back down the ladder. To his intense relief, he found Emma asleep, the blankets tucked up tight underneath her chin, her back turned. She didn't stir when he snuck into the room and carefully peeled a blanket and pillow away for himself. The floor didn't make much of a bed, but it beat the open deck by a long shot. In the dark, he laid awake listening to her breathe until sleep overtook him without his noticing.

He woke before dawn, startled awake by a twitch in the steady movement of the ship.

Something was wrong.

Without even pausing to think, he raced back up onto the deck.

Mullins was still at the helm, though he had turned the ship directly into the wind, slowing her to a near stop.

"What's going on?" Killian demanded, stalking up to him.

"Skylights, sir. Says he sees something."

Killian craned his neck to look up at the crow's nest where Skylights spent most of his time. He had the best eyes in the business, inexhaustible and sharp as a falcon's. Right now, he had both arms braced, steadying himself as the ship bobbed over the waves.

"Corvettes! At least two…maybe three! Due south! Coming on us fast with the wind at their backs!" he called down.

Killian leapt to the helm. "Come about! All hands on deck!"

The scramble of men was immediate, everyone to their stations within minutes, even those who had been asleep below decks roused and ready at a snap of their Captain's fingers. Killian looked down over his disheveled crew and felt a spasm of affection for these men who trusted their lives to him. The _Jolly Roger_ responded eagerly under their practiced hands, cutting a tight corner through the sea until the wind caught full in the sails, lurching the ship forward.

"They're gaining on us fast!" Skylights called from the crow's nest.

To the east, the orange glow of dawn lit the horizon. In the growing light, Killian could finally make out what Skylights had been able to see all along: the white sails and bobbing black hulls of the three ships approaching. He fetched his spyglass and held it to one eye, hoping to make out their colors.

"Two of them are definitely the queen's," Skylights reported.

"Aye," Killian agreed.

But the other one…

_Bloody hell_.

He took a second look and then a third, willing his eyes to be wrong. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, making the flag snapping at the top of the ship's mast look red rather than the queen's familiar purple. But as he stared, as the rising sun grew brighter, it became clear that he was not mistaken. The third corvette bore a red flag emblazoned with a golden flower: the sigil of Emma's royal family.

What in the world was it doing sailing with two of the queen's war ships? Everything he'd gathered from Emma suggested that her kingdom and Regina's did not speak to one another, did not like one another, and most certainly did not work together. Yet here they were, sailing as one unified front, all three bearing down on him.

"Should we prepare the canons?" Mullins asked.

"Not yet. Once we get up to speed, they won't be able to catch us," Killian replied. There was no ship faster than the _Jolly Roger_; her enchanted timbers granted her unnatural swiftness through the sea. Still, it would take some time to gather speed, even with the sails straining up above and the water parting effortlessly below.

He had barely gotten the order out when the corvettes began to fire, their canon muzzles flashing. Several rounds splashed just shy of the _Roger_'s stern, startling everyone, and kept on coming. Killian ducked involuntarily, surprised not just at how quickly the ships had managed to get within range, but at the intensity of the volley.

"Belay that order!" he cried out. "Prepare the canons!"

The ship's heavy ordinance could only shoot broadside, and he wasn't about to turn and present the enemy with his flank, so he directed his men instead to the smaller, deck canons which could be swiveled about, and had them begin to return fire. None of the small balls made it close to the pursuing ships, but they'd made a statement at least: the _Jolly Roger_ would not be won without a fight.

The corvettes seemed only too happy to oblige.

Another volley of fire splashed down behind him, one ball even clipping the ship with a splintering crack. Minor damage. But their intent was clear.

They meant to blast him out of the water.

It didn't make sense.

Even traveling overland, the news of Emma's abduction should have still been several days away from reaching her father. He couldn't all ready know. Not unless the queen had somehow used her black magic to speed word along. But even if she had, why would Emma's parents take part in such an aggressive attack, knowing she was on board? Why would they needlessly risk her life like this? Unless the queen had lied to them, twisting the truth to her own advantage, the way she always did.

Killian cast a glance back over his shoulder at the warships pursuing him and felt his stomach turn over, a old and bitter rage brewing.

His only consolation at the moment was that he'd obviously gotten in the way of some major design Regina had upon the princess.

But she'd done quality damage to his plot as well.

There was no way now that he could slip into the closest port and leisurely wait for Emma's ransom, not with every navy ship in the two kingdoms after him. He'd have to be more careful, stick to less frequented waters. He'd have to find some way of delivering a message that the king would believe over Regina's lies. And he would have to keep Emma on board the _Jolly Roger_ until he got it all sorted out.

When the ship finally began to pull away from the three corvettes, slipping out of canon range, his men gave a whoop, clapping hands. And after another half hour of sailing, the enemy ships vanished beyond the line of the horizon.

"Don't get ahead of yourselves, mates," Killian advised them, his voice low. "There's bumpy seas ahead."

"Where are we headed, Captain?" Smee asked.

"Out into the wilds," he replied. "Then south again."

"But sir…if we go much farther out, we'll end up passing by Skull Rock."

"I am aware of that. Thank you, Mr. Smee."

A palpable discontent rippled through his crew. They all remembered, vividly, the last (and only) time Killian had taken them into the treacherous waters surrounding Skull Rock. He stood at the helm with a hard line to his jaw, daring any one of them to cross him. None did, and he let out a breath. They didn't have to get close, he reasoned. Just far enough out so that the navy ships wouldn't find them. It'd be a fine line. But he felt confident that he could walk it.

With the crisis past, he turned the helm back over to Mullins and sought out something to eat, pausing to clap Skylights on the shoulder as he passed by.

Emma would need to eat, too, he realized as he handpicked a hasty meal out of the rations.

_Emma…_

He swore under his breath at the thought of her.

The plan had been to keep her locked up in his cabin for, at most, a few more days. Now it looked like he'd be stuck with her in his life, his room, and his _bed_ a lot longer than that. It wouldn't do. He needed some of his space back. He needed, more than anything, to distance himself from her. And distance was damn hard to come by out at sea. It would continue to be a rare commodity until Emma learned to get along with his crew and started working with him rather than against him.

When he stepped down the ladder into his quarters, she immediately fixed him with an unwavering glare.

"What was all the commotion?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with," he replied. "Come, darling. Eat. I've got plans for you once you're done."

"Do you?"

He pulled out a chair and sat down, his mouth quirking into a smile that he didn't feel.

"It's time you made yourself useful around here. You see, it appears we are in this for the long haul."

Emma's face flushed pale, and he noticed a tremor in her hands that she tried to stifle by gripping the side of the table. Whatever she'd expected him to say, it obviously wasn't this.

"What do you mean by _long haul_?" she asked.

"I mean," he started, his hand reaching out against his will to push a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder, "that from here on out, it's a pirate's life for you, Princess."


	3. In Which Emma Meets the Crew

A/N: Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who is reading, following, and reviewing. I'm new to this fandom and have never been in one this big before. So I'm a little overwhelmed by the positive response I've gotten. You're all so lovely. :)

Whom Slumber soothes not — Pleasure cannot please —  
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,  
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,  
The exulting sense—the pulse's maddening play,  
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?  
-_The Corsair_, Lord Byron

Chapter 3: In Which Emma Meets the Crew

After so many long days of captivity below deck, the brisk sea breeze greeted Emma like a long lost lover, wrapping itself around her and digging its fingers into her hair. She closed her eyes against the bright morning sun and drew in deep, cleansing breaths. The cool, salty tang set her soul to purring.

_Gods above_, it felt good to be outside.

A low, snarling voice startled her: "Captain?"

She opened her eyes to find one of the pirates she recognized from the assault on her ship standing a few feet away, one hand gripping a bit of rigging above his head. His overgrown beard reached well past the open collar of his shirt where she could make out the very top of a faded tattoo. And a white, knotty scar served as a mangled left ear. His dark eyes shifted back and forth between her and Captain Jones, who stood at her side.

"Starkey," he said with a nod. "I believe you and the Lady Emma have all ready made each other's acquaintances."

Starkey sneered, showing off several gold capped teeth. When he took a step toward her, he did so with a pronounced limp, his hand moving to grip his thigh.

"That there's yer handiwork, m'lady," he growled. "Took sixteen stitches, it did, to sew up me thigh, with nothing but rum to numb the pain."

A snappy response bubbled up in Emma's chest — her pride begging her to point out that it was hardly _her_ fault that he'd chosen a life of villainy, and that she'd been wholly justified in defending herself however the hell she saw fit when he came to abduct her — but she swallowed it back down, sensing that this was not the time. A hollow apology struck her as an even worse option; it'd be terribly obvious that she didn't mean it, and he might take it as an insult anyway. So she opted to say nothing at all, allowing her place next to the captain to speak for her. They both knew who had the real power here.

Killian shifted his weight so that his body swayed closer to Emma's.

"You've had worse days, mate," he said with a dismissive wave.

Grumbling something unintelligible, Starkey stepped around Emma and hobbled away, back to his duties.

"Excellent show of patience, love," Killian said. His hand settled at the small of her back, warm and reassuring, nudging her forward. "Now, come along. You've a lot to learn today. Let's not dally."

"What am I going to be learning, exactly?" she asked, still not sure what being forced to embrace _a pirate's life_ meant.

He smiled. "To start: how to sail. If you're going to be part of my crew, you'll need to know at least the basics."

"Your crew?" She balked. "I'm a prisoner. I'm not going to _work_ for you."

"If it makes it any easier for you to swallow, then think of it as earning your freedom."

It didn't, but Emma didn't suppose that would make any difference to him. Whatever had happened that morning with the battle she'd overheard, it had apparently convinced Captain Jones that she was going to be on the _Jolly Roger_ for a while, and he didn't want to keep her locked in his cabin for that length of time any more than she wanted to stay there. So,_ ipso facto_: she had to learn how to get around the ship without either hindering the crew or getting herself killed by one of them.

"Now, please, tell me you at least know starboard from port," Killian continued.

Emma huffed, insulted. "Of course I do."

"Excellent. Then let's start with the grand tour, shall we?"

His arm jutted out. Emma pointedly refused to take it, though she remained close as they crossed the deck, weaving in between bits of rigging and swarthy pirates. In comparison to what the rest of the ship had to offer, Killian's arm span seemed a bubble of relative safety, even though Emma knew, logically, that he was probably the worst of the lot (ruthlessness likely made for excellent social buoyancy among pirates). But he was also a known quantity. Familiar. And that alone gave him a comforting presence.

As they walked, Killian pointed out to her all the parts of the ship and its rigging. For approximately the first minute, Emma managed to keep everything straight. Bow and stern: simple. Foremast and mainmast: easy. But once he moved on to the rigging, gesturing to ropes that all looked identical to Emma but had a whole host of different names — sheets, braces, stays, and halliards, each of which came in an endless variety of fore and main — Emma's head began to swim.

Did he really expect her to remember all this?

The way he glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye, his tongue sliding over his teeth as he smirked, made her think not. He was enjoying this. Deriving some deep, male satisfaction from guiding her through his domain, the _Jolly Roger _his kingdom.

Below deck, matters got somewhat simpler. He showed her the crew and officer's quarters, the various holds and what each contained, including the main magazine stacked neatly with canon balls and barrels of black powder. It all struck Emma as very utilitarian. She'd expect a pirate ship to differ somehow from every other run-of-the-mill ship she'd been on in her life. But the _Jolly Roger_ had no flashy treasure vault, no dark and terrifying chamber for housing prisoners. Nothing, in fact, to distinguish it as a pirate ship at all except for the flag fluttering at the top of the mainmast and the decidedly roguish flavor of its captain.

"You'll be spending the day here," he informed her when they reached the ship's galley.

"Seriously? Is that a joke?"

"I'm quite serious."

She crossed her arms. "You think because I'm a woman that you can just stick me in the kitchen?"

"Not at all," Killian replied. "I'm sure that you are just as unfamiliar with preparing a meal as you are with sailing a ship, Princess. The fact of the matter is that I need to leave you in trusted hands, and this is where they happen to be."

Emma stiffened. "Wait. Leave me? Where are _you_ going to be?"

"Captaining the ship." He grinned. "Why? Missing me all ready?"

She scoffed, even though deep inside she did feel a small pang of alarm at the idea of him to leaving her alone with some strange pirate she'd just met. Darn it, she'd just gotten to know _this_ one.

Inside, they found the galley empty save for one man who had his back to the door, his arms elbow deep in a bag of flour. When they walked in, he turned and dusted his hands off, clapping them together to form a great, white cloud.

"Morning, Captain." He nodded in Emma's direction. "M'lady."

"Emma, this is Ed Teyente, my quartermaster," Killian said, gesturing between the two with a flick of his chin. "You are to assist him with his duties for the remainder of the day."

Ed looked friendly enough. A bit dwarf-like, really, with his round face, broad shoulders, and short stature. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Emma, but outweighed her by at least sixty pounds. He wore a white apron tied around his waist, a green button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of brown doeskin pants. Not half as intimidating as Starkey, nor as striking as Killian, who departed quickly, before she could protest, with no goodbye other than a shallow bow. Half the light seemed to go out of the room along with him.

"You don't look too pleased about this," Ed said.

Damn. Was she that obvious? Growing up royal, Emma had been expertly trained in schooling her features. But for some reason, all of her experience seemed to be failing her on board this ship.

"I…I guess I was just hoping to spend some time outside," Emma replied, "not trade being stuck in once place below deck for another."

"Don't worry. We won't be down here all day," Ed reassured her.

He set her to kneading dough, helpfully informing her it was something she needn't worry about messing up. Emma shrugged and gave it her all, gamely digging her hands into the cold, sticky dough, working it until her arms ached while Ed rolled out some of his own and stamped biscuits out using the mouth of an empty, overturned tin.

"Do you always do all the cooking?" Emma asked.

"Ain't much cooking that needs done on a ship," Ed replied. "We can only use the wood stove during fair weather. Too dangerous in heavy seas. The whole ship could catch fire. Since we're having such a nice, steady day, we've got to get as much done today as we can. I enjoy it well enough, so I usually volunteer. Been my habit a long time now. Near on a decade, I suppose."

She glanced at him in surprise. "You've been on board for that long?"

"Aye. Since even before she became the _Jolly Roger_."

"What was she called before?" Emma asked.

"Used to be the _Jewel of the Realm_," Ed replied off-handedly, as if this weren't a juicy morsel of information. Emma was careful to keep her focus zeroed in on the dough in her hands, not wanting him to guess how intensely interested she'd become in the history of this ship and her crew. Or, more particularly, her captain.

"That doesn't sound like the name of a pirate ship."

Ed laughed. "It's not. She was a navy ship back then."

"You were in the navy?"

Just like Liam, she realized. And perhaps Killian as well. Though he couldn't possibly have been on board this ship for as long as Ed - a decade ago he'd have been just a boy. Besides, Killian didn't seem the type: his leather, jewelry, devil-may-care attitude, and simmering sexuality all so deeply ingrained in his character that she struggled to imagine him without any of it, uniformed, upstanding, and disciplined.

Ed was nodding. "Aye. I served on board the _Jewel_ for six years."

"What made you turn pirate?"

"Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"And now?"

"Now, my loyalties are with the captain," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at her in a way that felt like a scolding.

Emma pried just a little further anyway. "Sounds like you've known him for a long time."

"I have. Since he was a lad."

Which meant that even if he hadn't been in the navy, young Killian Jones had at least been in close contact with naval officers. Perhaps his brother had raised him, or had merely brought him around the ship frequently when he'd been at home. She couldn't know for sure without asking directly, and that would give away far too much of her interest in the matter. So she settled for silently mulling it over, spinning different scenarios in her mind that would lead a young boy who grew up in and around the navy to turn pirate.

"You can go ahead and judge him and all the rest of us all you want from that castle of yours, m'lady," Ed suddenly said, noting her silence. "But we're out here living in the real world, where life sure as hell ain't fair and where anyone with enough power can do whatever they damn well please. Least us pirates don't pretend otherwise. Least we live by a code."

That hadn't been what Emma had been thinking at all, but she couldn't help asking, "What, exactly, does your code have to say about kidnapping?"

"It don't have any problem with it. But that ain't what happened to you, m'lady."

"Isn't it? Sure seemed like kidnapping to me."

Ed turned to face her, his mouth forming a hard, serious like. "Captain Jones saved your life."

"He…? Sorry. What?"

"You heard me."

"I did. I just…there's no way you can construe what he did, attacking my ship and abducting me against my will, as saving me from _anything_ except maybe boredom. I still don't even know what he's planning to do with me. Ransom, I guess, since none of you have bothered to try to kill or rape or—"

Ed waved her quiet. "We do plan to ransom you. But that's not why we grabbed you."

"Okay," Emma said slowly, not sure where this was going. "Then why did you?"

"To thwart the Evil Queen. She had plans to take you herself, and we have all sworn, above all else, to never let that woman have anything that she wants."

"Why?"

"It's a personal matter. One you'll have to ask the captain about."

It sounded an awful lot like pretense to Emma. But, seeing as Ed clearly wasn't bound by logic, it didn't strike her as worth arguing over.

Did he really believe that they'd saved her life? That they were marauding the high seas, thieving and pillaging for the greater good? Perhaps everyone on board had bought the same story. But she, at least, recognized it as a load of pure bullshit. Regina hadn't been plotting against her. She had no motive, especially not after expressly promising Emma safe passage through her kingdom. And Emma's ransom wasn't just some happy side effect — some weird, twisted reward for saving her from an imagined danger. That was just ridiculous.

Although…Captain Jones _had_ said something about snatching her only because he didn't want someone else to have her.

She frowned and blew out a sigh.

Figured he'd be crazy. That handsome and unattached, something had to be wrong - even outside of the whole pirate business.

Once Ed declared her dough ready, he helped her to roll it out, then let her cut out biscuits while he put the ones he had prepared into the tiny, wood burning stove. Together, they filled a large, canvas bag with the warm, brown little morsels. More than enough, Ed assured her, to last the crew for the next two days.

Next, he took her down into one of the holds to fetch a barrel of apples and some salted pork. Emma hauled the heavy pork while Ed rolled the barrel, the two of them falling into a much more companionable discussion. Emma told him all about her favorite meals that she longed for back home, her mouth watering when she described chocolate. And Ed told her of the soft, flakey turnovers his mother had baked on cold mornings when he'd been a little boy, and how he'd always planned to make them for his own children someday but had never gotten the chance to start a family after being drafted into service at the start of the war against the ogres.

It felt good to be doing something, to be occupied, useful, and engaged in a real conversation rather than the verbal sparring she so often fell into with the captain. And as her mood lightened, so did Ed's. When they popped open the barrel of apples, the both of them leaning into the bar they used to lever the top off, he plucked one bright red fruit off the top, polished it against his breast pocket, and handed it to her.

"Take a break, we're almost done here," he said, then smiled broad and earnest when she perched on the edge of the table next to him and took a big bite, all of his gruff pirate demeanor dissolved away into something fatherly, friendly, and so damn _dwarf-like_ that she couldn't help the spasm of affection that took hold of her heart.

The galley had grown stifling hot inside with the stove running. Ed dabbed sweat off his brow and glanced up at the ceiling overhead.

"Will we be heading up on deck next?" Emma asked.

"Aye. And then, m'lady, I'll be teaching you how to steer a pirate ship."

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, Emma supposed with a smile.

* * *

In his quarters, Killian had maps spread all across his desk. None agreed with one another on where exactly Skull Rock was located, which was making plotting a course around it rather difficult. His own fractured notes from the one time he'd visited the gods forsaken isle weren't much better. So, with the day wearing thin, he came to his best estimate, noted down the particulars, and then painstakingly sorted everything back where it belonged. He had left most everything in the captain's quarters unchanged since inheriting the space from Liam, and that included his brother's byzantine filing system. He'd always hated it. Had spent many hours, in fact, complaining to Liam about it while serving as his lieutenant. But now he held onto it as one of the last tangible pieces of his brother, the entire room a shrine to his memory.

Up above, the steady footsteps and muted chatter of his crew multiplied as meal time approached. Killian had been holed up in his cabin all day, missing lunch while he used his Emma-free hours to bathe and sleep before settling in to get some real work done.

How had she managed on her first day as a pirate, he wondered?

Ed was a steady fellow, the sort who had weathered a lot of rough seas without ever batting an eye, and he had earned the respect of everyone on board. No one would bother Emma under Ed's watchful eye. Killian had no doubt that his crew had behaved themselves. But Emma? She was another matter entirely.

Curious now, he pulled on his coat and climbed the ladder up onto deck, meaning to go find her and see how she had been getting on.

As it happened, he didn't have to look far.

She stood mid-deck, the gentle breeze shifting through her long blonde hair, her eyes squinted against the setting sun which showered her from head to toe in radiant gold. All around her, his cut-throat pirate crew scurried about, obediently setting up a stately dinner on the middle of his ship. The table from the galley sat just in front of the mast, chairs crowded around it, a few perilously close to bits of rigging that would swing around hard enough to brain the poor soul sitting there should the wind suddenly turn. Emma adjusted the silverware around the plate at the head of the table, while Ed arranged large platter of salted pork into a spiral pattern.

Neither noticed Killian as he approached.

"Something going on here I should know about?" he asked, startling them both.

Ed fumbled all over himself to explain: "Aye! Captain! I thought that…or — erm — Princess Emma wanted, sir, with the weather being so fair…we thought we might dine on deck tonight. Turley offered to help move the table and chairs. And Mullins is down in the galley right now baking apples—"

"Mullins?" Killian interrupted, surprised. He hadn't pegged Mullins as someone Emma could win over quickly, seeing as she'd knocked the man out with a water pitcher only a few days ago.

"Aye, sir. Apparently he has a family recipe using molasses and rum."

Killian glanced to Emma, who stood leaning with one hand against the back of a chair, her head cocked in a confident, victorious way that made her look so bloody beautiful he had to physically fight back the desire to pull her close and kiss her senseless. Behind her, the rest of his crew paused, everyone waiting to see how he would react.

"I'd hate for all the lady's hard work to go to waste," he said after a moment. "Tonight, we'll eat under the stars."

Emma sat him at the head of the table, then sat herself at the other end with Ed and Turley at either hand. The rest of the crew sat where they pleased, everyone looking uncomfortable until Emma started the meal by spearing a piece of pork with her fork and flopping it unceremoniously onto her plate. With that, everyone else followed suit and dug in. Mullins appeared a few minutes later bearing a bowl full of steamy hot apple slices, baked in a sweet brown coating.

From his place at the head of the table, Killian ate silently, blocking out the conversation going on around him in favor of observing what was happening down at the other end.

Ed and Turley looked utterly besotted, the both of them hanging on her every word, their eyes as big and wet and round as a puppy's whenever they glanced up at her. She had her head inclined toward Ed, telling him something that Killian couldn't make out over the other voices. Whatever it was made Ed break out in a loud guffaw, his hand coming down to slap the table.

"You want some, Captain?" Mullins asked.

Killian snapped to attention and found Mullins holding out a bowl of baked apples. With a nod, he let the man spoon a heaping pile onto his plate. He eyed the fruit with suspicion before spearing one with his fork. In the years he'd known Mullins, the man had never once expressed an interest in cooking. Aside from the time he'd offered to slaughter a goat they'd picked up on trade, Killian didn't think Mullins had once been involved in the ship's food production. So he prepared himself for the worst as he bit into the warm slice of apple and chewed, Mullins watching him hopefully.

It surprised him. Not exactly tavern quality, and he thought it tasted like it might be missing an ingredient or two, but serviceable in spite of that.

"S'good," he said with a nod and took another bite.

Mullins beamed.

"I had no idea you were such a woman, Mullins." Skylights sniggered. "The princess take your balls after she wiped the floor with you, or what?"

The carefree atmosphere around the table vanished in an instant.

"Shut your goddamn trap," Mullins shot back. "Who invited you down out of the crow's nest anyway?"

Skylights tossed back a long drag of rum, then laughed. "Guess you still got at least one left. But I'm not the only one, mate, who sees that you got yourself right pussy whipped by the bint."

"Hey!" Ed shot to his feet. "There'll be no bad-mouthing the lady at this table!"

"Weren't bad-mouthin' her, just pointing out the obvious."

Turley unsheathed the dagger he kept at his waist. "Yer digging yer own grave here, Skylights. Shut yer ass before I come over there and do it for ya."

Killian had just opened his mouth to tell all four of them to sit down and knock it off, when Emma brought silence to the whole table by standing up, snatching Ed's sword as she did so, and announcing: "There's no shame in getting beaten by a worthy opponent. I'll take on any one of you to prove it." Her eyes scanned the crowd, hot and challenging. "Any volunteers?"

His jaw slack with astonishment, Killian watched as she glanced past him, over the frozen faces of his crew, until her gaze landed squarely on Skylights.

"Afraid you might get whipped by the _bint_?" she asked.

The whole crew let out a roar, Mullins and several others banging their forks and tin cups of rum against the table top until Killian's plate nearly rattled off the edge and into his lap. Hands shoved at Skylights, propelling him out of his chair, even as the rest continued to jeer and shout. When Emma swept confidently around the side of the table to meet him, testing the weight of Ed's sword in her hand, Skylight's face went visibly pale. But he collected himself quickly and began popping back and forth from one foot to the other, an exaggerated smile plastered on his face.

"Sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"Are you?" Emma retorted.

They moved the table back to give the pair room. Killian leaned against the edge of it, his arms and ankles crossed. He had half a mind to put a stop to this whole thing, but he trusted Emma would easily make her point and wanted to see her in action. In any event, he figured he could still step in if things went too far, if there was any chance she might actually get hurt.

Skylights made the first move, lunging forward, his sword making a wide arc as he swung. Emma countered easily with an efficient flick of her wrist, then took a step back to throw him off balance, allowing him to fall forward into striking distance. Someone had trained her well. She made short work of Skylights, his sword clattering to the deck after just a handful of exchanges, the leading edge of her own weapon poised with deadly accuracy at his throat.

"She's bloody amazing," Ed whispered.

"Aye," Killian replied just as quietly, his voice thick.

Shame faced, Skylights retreated back into the crowd.

"Anyone else care to try?" Emma asked, her stance losing some of its threatening posture, becoming more playful, more joking. She was playing the crowd masterfully.

Everyone took a turn, except for Ed and Turley, who both refused to raise a sword against the princess, even in jest, and the trio who had been unfortunate enough to face her during the abduction. She won every round, only Bill Jukes giving her a real challenge. The two remained locked in heated battle for a long time, Bill close to winning at several breathless points where Killian's heart nearly stopped at seeing Emma's arms shaking under the assault of her stronger, well-rested opponent. When she finally threw him off, sending his sword flying, she grinned and blew a disheveled bit of blonde hair out of her flushed face.

"How about you, Captain?" she asked. "Care to give me a go?"

Gods. She had _no_ idea.

"You're exhausted, love," he replied.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're worried about me?"

"No. I just prefer a fair fight."

"Okay then. I'll catch my breath first." She strode over and sat down on the edge of the table next to him, her feet swinging free just above the deck, Ed's sword positioned between her knees. The last battle had, indeed, left her out of breath. Killian could feel her shoulder brushing his every time she inhaled.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered to her. "You've made your point — won them over."

"I know. But I want to see what you've got, Captain. Just how good are you with that sword?"

"Second to none, darling."

"We'll see."

He had no doubt that if he'd met her unprepared, unsuspecting, she'd have him beat. But he knew what to expect from her now and had been watching her fight. She had obviously devoted herself to daily practice. The forms she struck at times were so textbook, so flawless, that she'd she'd turned battle into art, her lean, lithe body poised and graceful and strong. But she lacked real world experience. And that was where he felt he had the clear upper hand.

After a few minutes, Emma took a long drink of rum, then slid off the table onto her feet.

"I'm ready if you are, Captain."

"No turning back now," he warned her.

"I wouldn't think of it." She tapped the side of his leg with her sword. "Come on. Show me what a _real_ pirate is made of."

His men hooted and cheered, at least half of them now so drunk that he doubted they'd even remember seeing this in the morning. Distantly, he recalled a time when he'd been so much younger and more naive, when he'd routinely chastised anyone found drinking on his brother's ship. Now he rarely spent a day without having one himself. The rabble-rousing and debauchery that so often colored life on the _Jolly Roger_ didn't bother him — not _really_ — but striding toward Emma, her face alight with goodness and innocence, her presence like a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day, he became suddenly aware of how much Liam's death had changed everything.

"Ready?" Emma asked, her sword raised.

He unsheathed his own and gently tapped her blade with his, the two swords ringing one another like a bell.

And she came at him.

It was a familiar move, one which reminded Killian vividly of learning to sword fight with his brother aboard the deck of this very ship. His coat billowed out behind him as he swung around, avoiding her blow, letting her step past him. She recovered quickly, countered his attack. They parried. Gave ground. Gained ground. Met one another and pushed one another away. All across the deck, he pursued her and she pursued him, gold and black, perfectly matched. A thing of beauty.

As the game wore on, Emma began to dig deep, pulling out moves he hadn't expected her to know.

"Good form," he said, their faces close as he managed, at the last minute, to catch her sword with his.

Her eyes locked with his, and she hesitated.

Only for a split second. Less than a heartbeat...

"But not good enough," he added, catching her leg with the back of his foot, knocking her off balance so that a strong push with his sword arm sent her stumbling backwards, right into the mast.

He followed, his heart pounding as his sword ground down the length of hers, scraping and creeping, leaving them both breathless the moment his hilt met hers. Still, he pressed closer. His knee brushed the inside of her thigh. Beneath her thick lashes, he could see her eyes dark and dilated, her chest heaving.

"Bit of advice." He dipped his head so that his lips hovered close to her ear as he spoke. "Quit while you still can."

The breathy sound of her mouth falling open made his eyes flutter shut.

"Why would I do that…?" she asked, her arms relaxing just enough to let him sway into her, his nose brushing her hair, "…when I'm winning?"

His eyes snapped open, but not before her knee shot up between his legs and sent him sprawling backwards, gasping. He should have seen it coming — she'd tried to do the same thing once before, after all — but he'd been so wrapped up, had been enjoying their duel so much, that he hadn't figured she might fight dirty.

"That's breaking the rules, lass," he managed, still half bent over.

Behind him, he heard a pained grumble of agreement from the crew.

"I don't remember setting out any rules," she replied. "Do you need a moment? Or would you like to continue?" Her sword waved, drawing a little pattern in the air in front of his face.

"No. No." He chuckled and bowed in defeat. "Congratulations. You bested me. I can count on one hand the number of people who've managed that."

Magnanimous in victory, she fetched him a chair and a cup of rum. He downed the drink and lowered himself into the chair only when she pulled one up beside him for herself. Ed clapped her on the back with a big grin, then traded her a fresh apple in exchange for his sword back.

Darkness had fallen, so that only the big moon in the sky and flickering lantern light lit the deck. The men who had been up since early that morning excused themselves below deck to sleep, Starkey passing out before he even made it that far, so that Bill Jukes and Skylights had to drag him to his bed. Ed and Mullins both began to clean up, quietly trundling dishes and leftover food back to the galley. With his stomach full and the pain in his groin beginning to abate, Killian felt as close to content as he could remember being in a very long time.

"How did you come to be so handy with a sword?" he asked. "Doesn't strike me as typical for your sort."

"My sort?" Emma tossed one arm over the back of her chair and turned her body to face him.

"Princesses," he clarified.

"Well, my family's not exactly typical."

"Ah, yes. Snow White and her Prince Charming. I've heard of them. Though I've never been sure how much of it to believe."

Emma sighed wistfully. "Both of my parents have always told me that sometimes you have to be willing to fight for what you want. Whether it's for the good of your people, or for love, or family. And if it ever came down to actual _fighting_, they wanted me to be equipped to succeed. My father taught me how to use a sword from the time I could hold one. And then when I got older, I started training with one of his trusted knights."

"He taught you well. You're incredible. Bloody amazing."

This was, by far, the most open she had ever been with him, all of the walls she'd put up around herself to avoid telling him anything personal or ever giving him an inch in their verbal sparring matches gone.

They were alone now on deck, everyone else having either passed out below or gone about their own business. And Ed and Mullins hadn't reappeared yet from their last trip down the galley. So Killian felt at ease leaning in close to her, twirling a finger in the loose end of her hair, and adding: "I told you that you'd make one hell of a pirate."

She looked away, all of her walls slamming back into place.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Of course."

Her eyebrows drew together and she walked over to lean against the side of the ship and look down into the water below. Killian followed even though he got the impression he was no longer welcome at her side.

"What happened this morning?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "Who attacked us?"

Her slip of the tongue did not go unnoticed. _Us_. Not _you_. As if subconsciously she considered herself part of his crew, part of his life on this ship.

"It was the Evil Queen," he replied, figuring that he could tell her at least that much.

"Ed said that you have some vendetta against her. That it's personal."

"Did he?"

"Said I should ask you about it."

"You can ask, darling. But we won't be discussing it." Not right now, anyway. Now yet.

She didn't press, just moved on, the wind moving her hair across her neck and shoulders as she turned her face up to meet his eyes. "Ed also said that you saved my life. That the queen had her own plans to kidnap me."

"Aye. That's what we heard. I have spies inside of her regime."

"What would she want with me?" Emma asked.

"I don't know."

She scrutinized him long and hard before finally breaking eye contact, her shoulders sagging with a sigh. "I don't think you're lying. I've got this thing with lies. But…it doesn't make sense."

"In my experience, the queen's nefarious plots rarely do." He shrugged. "She's evil purely for the sake of it."

Emma's hands clenched and her eyes searched the waves, troubled and full of thought. Perhaps if she stewed on it long enough, she might come up with some answer as to the queen's motives. And if she could give him a solid lead on how to destroy his enemy, then perhaps he could be convinced to forget about her ransom. In the meantime…

"We both ought to get some sleep," he suggested.

She nodded and started toward the door leading down into his quarters.

"Ah. Not so fast, love." He caught her by the arm, spinning her around. "You're a pirate now. Part of the crew."

It took her a moment to work out what he meant.

"You mean...? You want me to sleep down in the _crew quarters_?" she asked, aghast.

"That is generally how it's done."

"I…seriously? No!"

He stepped closer, unable to keep his distance despite the memory of what had happened the last time he invaded her personal space. "You would rather share a bed with me, then?"

Her jaw set in an angry line, the answer to his question clearly _yes_, though she was unwilling to say so.

"We wouldn't have to share the bed any more than we've been doing the past few days," she finally replied.

"I'm not going to keep sleeping on the floor, love. Not on my own ship."

"What happened to being a gentleman?" she snapped.

He put a hand on Emma's shoulder, moving her hair away from her neck with the tips of his fingers. "Pirate. Remember?" he said with a smirk. "I'm going to be sleeping in my own bed tonight. You can sleep there with me, or in your own bed in the crew quarters. But I will not have you on the floor."

For a second, Emma looked like she might hit him. "You're a cocky bastard for someone who took a knee to the nuts today. You know that?"

The word _cocky_ set his mind to overflowing with potential retorts, but she didn't give him a chance to use any of them, just turned on her heel and stormed away, across the deck toward the crew quarter's. Disappointment weighed heavy in his stomach. As much as he wanted his own space back, he'd hoped she'd fight harder to stay there, near him. It would be a mite lonely without her breathing beside him in the dark.

Best he not get to used to it, he thought with a frown. Emma wasn't exactly his to keep. Far from it.

He dropped down the ladder into his cabin and tossed his coat across the table, laying down his sword on top of it. He'd just unbuttoned his waistcoat when someone knocked at the door, using their whole fist - an impolite and insistent banging. When he climbed the ladder and opened it, a solid wall of something flat and pinstriped met him, nearly knocking him down as it was shoved through the doorway. The mattress landed with a thud on the floor at his feet.

A second later, Emma followed, slamming the door shut behind her.

"What's this?" he asked.

"My bed from the crew's quarters," she snapped.

He let out a breathy laugh. "You brought it all the way back up here?"

"Does that surprise you? It's not like you left me much choice. Now, help me get it made up, or get out of the way." She shouldered past him, scooting the mattress along the floor with her feet until she had it wedged between the bed and the table.

To be honest, nothing about Emma surprised him anymore. Except, perhaps, how difficult it was becoming with every passing day to imagine life without her.


	4. In Which Everyone Gets Wet

She walks the waters like a thing of Life!  
And seems to dare the elements to strife.  
-_The Corsair_, Lord Byron

Chapter 4: In Which Everyone Gets Wet

If he hadn't already been on the other side of the law, the sight of Killian Jones in just his shirtsleeves would have been enough to deem him criminal. For a long time, Emma laid awake on the lumpy mattress she had hauled into his quarters and tried to scrub from her mind the image of him standing there, smiling at her with his waistcoat entirely undone and the loose, black shirt he wore underneath hanging open halfway down his chest. It had taken everything in her power not to stare, and then required removing herself from temptation completely by walking to the other side of the room in order to overcome her subsequent desire to reach out, hook a finger on the edge of his shirt, and pop another button free.

It didn't help that he had done everything short of kissing her during their sword match. The memory of his stubble brushing rough against her cheek, his nose nuzzling in her hair, his leg solid between her knees…

Emma had to stop and take a steadying breath.

She didn't understand this attraction.

Sure, he was handsome. But Emma had met plenty of handsome men, and none had affected her in quite this way. Perhaps being at sea was to blame. Maybe the stress and isolation of life on board the _Jolly Roger_ had activated some primitive part of her brain that thought the world had gone to hell, and that she had better sink her claws into the best available male and start making babies _immediately_ if she wanted the human race to survive.

Because…_gods._

This was not something she wanted to be feeling.

_He's not a good man_, she reminded herself, repeating it like a mantra in her head. _He is __**not**__ a good man._

It didn't sound convincing, even in light of everything she knew about him. Or…maybe because of everything she knew about him.

He hadn't lied about Regina. She knew that much.

But Emma still couldn't figure out why the Evil Queen would want to kidnap her. Their kingdoms had always been content to live side by side under a policy of mutual disinterest. Lately, Regina had broken that pattern by pushing for an alliance against the ogres; she wanted to join forces. Outside of an outlandish plot to coerce her parents into sending troops by holding their daughter hostage, Emma didn't see what Regina could hope to gain by snatching her. Unless it had all been a ruse to begin with — a strategically placed bit of misinformation designed to find its way to Killian Jones, draw him out, and force him to make a move.

Emma felt entirely too uneasy with the thought that her purpose here might, in some convoluted way, be to destroy him.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, she slept, and then woke to Captain Jones nudging her in the side with his bare foot as he climbed out of bed.

"Up and about, darling. It's morning."

Bleary eyed and exhausted, she pulled the blankets up over her face and groaned.

"Morning is a relative term."

"The sun is up," he clarified. The mattress shifted as he kneeled down on it beside her and tugged the covers back from her eyes. She found him hovering over her, looking delightfully sleep rumpled with his shirt untucked and the laces on his pants loose. It didn't make her want to get out of bed so much as it made her seriously consider pulling him into it with her.

"Best get going," he said. "It's going to be a long day."

She sighed. "Aren't they all?"

"Aye. But there's uneasy waves this morning. Could be a storm on our horizon."

He offered her his hand. Reluctantly, she took it, allowing him to help her up off the floor.

"You can tell that from down here, just by the movement of the ship?"

"Most experienced captains could," he replied with a shrug. "The sea is a capricious mistress, and a sailor lives and dies by his ability to read her moods."

"This morning you're a sailor, huh? Last night, you were a pirate," Emma teased.

He licked his lips and smirked. "Is that a complaint? All the ladies I've met have quite throughly enjoyed the fact that I turn dastardly by night."

"I'm not most ladies," Emma reminded him.

"You are quite right about that, darling."

She watched as he stepped away from her and began to dress for the day, perching on the side of the bed to pull on his boots. Without the sword and coat, he looked almost approachable. Like a regular man rather than a dread pirate captain.

"It's funny that you mention it, actually," she said, caught up in the intimacy of the moment. "Because you _were_ a sailor once. Right? You and Liam?"

Killian's blue gaze flashed up to meet hers, his expression solidifying into something passive and unreadable, as it always did whenever she brought up his brother.

"My, my," he grumbled. "You and Ed had a lot to discuss yesterday. Didn't you?"

"He didn't say anything," Emma replied. "I figured it out on my own. You kept several of Liam's books that he only could have gotten in the service. And I just assumed, since the two of you were obviously so close, that you must have served along side him. Was he a captain, too?"

For a long, silent second Killian stared at her, and she thought he might refuse to answer. But he must have felt the warmth and familiarity of waking up together same as she did, because he dropped his boot back on the floor, braced both hands against the edge of the bed, and nodded.

"Aye. He captained this very ship. I was his lieutenant." A humorless smirk crossed his face. "You look surprised."

"I am," Emma admitted. "I guess I'm having a hard time picturing it."

"What? Me as a man of honor?"

"No." It didn't stretch her imagination at all to generate an image of him as a man more than willing to give his life fighting for his people. "I mean, I can't see you as some rule-abiding, stick-in-the-mud lieutenant. Plus…there's the uniform." She pressed her fingers against her lips to try to hide her smile. Her own kingdoms naval uniforms were quite fetching, although they did include a ridiculous number of silly hats. "Do you still have it?" she asked, not daring to hope.

"Would it please you if I did?" he countered.

_Oh gods. _"You do!"

An attractive blush added the slightest hint of pink to his cheeks. "Parts of it," he admitted. "Not the whole thing."

"Can I see it? Whatever you kept?"

Throughly embarrassed, he pulled on his boots with an overabundance of force. "No. We don't have time for this," he said quickly. "Now get dressed so that we can at least eat breakfast before going about our duties."

Amused, Emma set about getting ready for the day.

The revelation that Killian had, in fact, once been an honest naval officer made several large pieces of Jones family history fall into place. It seemed clear to her now that Liam had died while captaining the _Jewel of the Realm_, and that whatever had happened had been bad enough to drive his little brother and the rest of his crew, including Ed, against the queen they had vowed to serve — bad enough to make them swear vengeance on her under the guise of piracy.

Knowing this didn't wash away every bad thing the captain had done over the intervening years. But Emma thought, at the very least, that she understood how he had gotten there.

"So, just what are my duties today?" she asked as she tied back her hair. "What charming member of your crew am I going to be assigned to help?"

"Today?" He glanced over his shoulder at her as he pulled his coat on. "That would be me, love."

_Good_.

Up on deck, a cool, brisk wind met them, tasting of rain. Whitecaps splashed against the hull. Emma couldn't make out an approaching storm on the horizon, but a blanket of off-white clouds obscured the sky, giving the whole day an unsettled, sickly feel. It was a relief to drop back down below deck again and return to the homey space of the galley. A handful of men sat around the table, eating breakfast over a hand of cards. When Killian entered the room, Smee immediately sidled up to him, hat in hand.

"Sir, I think you ought to reconsider our course," he said under his breath, though Emma was close enough to overhear. "With this weather, we can't risk getting too close to Skull Rock."

"I'm aware of the issue," Killian replied flatly.

"I'm not going back there, Captain. Not again."

"You needn't trouble yourself, Mr. Smee. That is not part of the plan."

Consumed with curiosity, Emma sat down next to him and ate her entire breakfast without tasting a single bite. Finally, as they left the noisy galley together and walked out into the empty corridor leading back up on deck, she reached forward and grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

"What's Skull Rock?" she asked.

"You heard that?" He tugged his arm out of her grip and kept walking.

"It sounds dangerous."

"It is."

"Then why are we going there?"

He sighed and came to a stop on the stairs, then spun to face her. "As you undoubtedly heard me tell Smee, we're not," he said.

"Okay. Not going there. But we're going to get close?" she persisted.

"Yes. We are. The queen is hunting us, and she knows exactly where we are headed. Which means that we need to take an unconventional route. One that her ships will not follow."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "This place is bad enough that even war ships are afraid to sail near it, but you've been there before?"

He looked down at the floor. "Aye. Once. And lost five men."

"_Five_?" That was a third of the crew. "Gods. How? To what?"

"Demons," he replied darkly, then turned and continued up onto deck.

For most of the morning, Killian stood at the helm, making minor adjustments to their course and consulting a booklet he kept in his jacket pocket. Emma sat behind him, working at a bit of loose rope he'd given her, trying and retying knots as he instructed. Some proved a real trick to master, leaving her fingers tender by the time she worked them out.

When she presented him with a flawless bowline on a bight knot, Killian nodded approvingly.

"You're a quick study."

"Yeah. At this rate, I might be able to do actual work around here someday," Emma said.

"This is real work," he replied seriously.

Emma grumbled and rolled her eyes. It sure didn't feel like real work. Every other member of the crew was busy preparing for the worst: lashing down cargo, double-checking the rigging, and making sure every inch of every seam on the ship remained water-tight. Her morning of taking the "rabbit 'round the big tree" seemed piddling and juvenile in comparison.

Killian glanced down across the deck once before holding out his hand.

"All right, lass. Come here."

"What? Why?"

"Just…trust me, darling."

His fingers waggled, and he looked so open, so inviting, that for a moment she did — _trust him_. Her hand closed around his and he pulled over to the wheel, maneuvering her body in front of his.

"One hand here," he said slowly, lifting her right hand to place it on one of the pegs. His other hand slid down the length of her left arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. "And the other hand…here."

Emma stood holding the wheel, his hands on top of hers and his arms closing her in. He kept a buffer of space between their bodies, but even so she knew he had to be aware of the way her breathing grew uneven and the way her skin flushed with the heat of her racing heart. Though she doubted he'd need even that much evidence to deduce what this was doing to her. The fact that she hadn't moved away or bruised one of his ribs with her elbow for daring to be so forward was proof enough that his advances weren't _entirely_ unwanted.

"Now, just keep her steady," he said, his voice a low, sensual rumble in her ear.

She hoped to hell that he couldn't feel the way her arms trembled.

"I can't decide if you're brave or just stubborn," she said, hoping to stifle her out of control physical reaction with conversation.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, getting this close to me didn't work out so well for you last time."

He laughed. "Yes, well…there are some risks I'm willing to take."

"Like Skull Rock?" She flexed her fingers underneath his, still struggling to turn down her response. "You're willing to risk going there if it means keeping me away from Regina?"

"If it meant that woman's downfall, I would travel to Skull Rock a dozen times over," he replied.

"You hate her that much?"

This time, he trembled.

"Yes. I hate her that much." He sounded dangerous, his voice colored not just by a thirst for vengeance but by real rage. "She destroyed everything I cared about. Ripped away the last bit of family I had in this world."

"Liam must have been very dear to you." Emma allowed the motion of the ship the sway her body closer to his, compelled to comfort him any way she could.

"Aren't you going to tell me that I should forgive her?" Killian asked. "Aren't you going to try to convince me that my brother would have wanted more for me than a life devoted to vengeance?"

"No," Emma replied.

From what she knew of Regina, he might do the entire realm a favor by deposing her. Plus, Emma knew that she might never understand the sort of hole Liam's death had left in his heart, or how he could ever hope to mend it. She had no judgement to pass. No sage advice to offer.

He let out a breath that whispered across her neck. "Good."

The wheel turned a fraction under their hands, his guiding hers.

If any of the other pirates noticed her standing there in the captain's arms, none stopped to look. Emma quickly forgot that they had an audience, the warmth of Killian at her back absorbing all of her attention.

It would be so easy, she thought, to lean into him. To turn around and move her lips up the smooth column of his neck. To run her fingers across the stubble along his jaw. She closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Whether he'd be rough or gentle. What he'd taste like…

A cold gust of wind brought her eyes open again.

Behind her, Killian swore under his breath.

"Looks like we may not escape this tempest after all," he muttered.

Towering black clouds slowly crept into view over the horizon. As they grew closer, the waves quickly increased in number, rocking the ship underneath them. Emma was glad for the captain's arms around her as one particularly large swell threw her back into the wall of his chest.

"You should get down below," he said, one arm latching tight around her waist to hold her steady.

"Could this wreck the ship?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, love. I haven't meant a storm yet that could best the _Jolly Roger_."

A flash of lightning lit up the thundercloud, as if challenging him on that point.

With the wind whipping the sea around them into an angry froth, Killian passed Emma off to Turley, who escorted her down into the relative stillness and safety of the captain's quarters. The ship rocked over a huge wave right after he left, leaving her pinwheeling her arms to stay standing. Carefully, she sank down onto the floor, keeping her back to the wall and her feet braced.

He'd get them through this, she thought, confident in his skill.

All she had to do was hold on.

* * *

The corvette bobbed over rough waves, its sea anchor out and its sails reefed against the heavy wind. The frigate accompanying it floated close by, its red and gold flag flapping hard against the face of the oncoming storm. From his place atop the corvette's forecastle, the Huntsman watched the lightning flash and drew his heavy coat tight around his shoulders. The musky scent of animal fur soothed his senses. A deep longing for dry land and the dark forest wracked him.

Life on board a ship did not suit him. He did not want to be here.

But no one refused the Evil Queen. Not even him.

The corvette's captain stepped up beside him, one hand clutching his hat to his head and the other gripping the ship's rail for purchase against the roll of the waves.

"Best hold on to something," he said. "Going overboard in a storm is bad enough. But ending up overboard out here is even worse."

The Huntsman made no reply, unconcerned.

"This isn't the friendly sea you're used to," the captain continued. "There's creatures living in these waters you sure as hell don't want to meet. And a storm like this is liable to stir all of them up."

They had been over this once before, back when the Huntsman had first suggested this route. The captain had been vehemently opposed, citing tales of whirlpools, six headed dragons, and whole ships snatched from the surface of the sea by monsters more massive than anything dreamed of on land. They had butted heads over it until the Huntsman finally pulled rank and overruled him. The queen herself had sent him here and granted him the authority to act on her behalf. So, in the end, the captain had been left with no choice but to follow his command.

"I still don't think they will come this way," he grumbled.

"That is exactly why they will," the Huntsman assured him.

The pirate they were chasing was crafty enough to have evaded capture by the authorities for years. That meant he had at least some idea how they operated and of just how far they would be willing to risk their lives to bring him to justice. All agreed that none but the exceptionally brave and desperate strayed this far out into the wide open blue. With a kidnapped princess on board and the combined forces of two kingdoms after him, this pirate was clearly both. He'd come this way. The Huntsman was sure of it.

He gazed across the water at the frigate, whose crew had been more than willing to ply these dangerous seas if it meant bringing to justice the man who had abducted their beloved princess. A noble lot of men, to be certain. But potential trouble.

Because the Huntsman's mission here wasn't just to use his considerable amount of skill to track down an elusive bit of prey.

Not even the corvette's captain knew his real purpose.

That he had been dispatched to ensure Princess Emma never returned to her kingdom alive.

Underneath his coat, he gripped the hilt of his sword, grim and focused. Though it did not disturb him, neither did it give him any pleasure to imagine the task ahead. But, gods willing, once it was done, he would be allowed to vanish back into his half-wild existence in the woods, and that gave him comfort.

For now, like a panther poised in the shadows, he awaited his chance to strike.

* * *

The storm blew itself out by late afternoon.

For what felt like hours, Emma had been stuck in the captain's quarters, watching rain lash against the windows as they rode over the massive waves, everything in the room shifting forward and back, over and over, the lamp above the table swinging like a pendulum. The ship had creaked and groaned under the stress, but seemed none the worse for wear as Emma emerged once again onto the rain-washed deck, sick to her stomach and weak-legged.

The bright sunlight dazzled her. She shaded her eyes and looked up at the sails, checking to see that none had been damaged, before casting her gaze back to the helm where Killian stood, his black hair wet and sticking up in wild abandon where he'd run his hands through it. Ed stood next to him, the two of them handling a complicated instrument that Emma didn't have a name for.

"Ah! Princess!" Ed saw her approaching first. "How did your first storm treat you? Did the captain's quarters get a new coat of paint?"

She crossed her arms. "Very funny. And, no. I managed to keep my breakfast down just fine."

"Steady as an ox, you are, my dear," Ed said with a toothy grin.

Emma had never once, in her whole life, been compared to an ox. But she chose to accept it as a compliment, nodding with a refined incline of her head like her mother had taught her to while in court.

"What are you doing?" she asked and gestured to the device in the captain's hand.

"Taking our bearings," he replied.

Ed added: "Trying to figure out where in damnation we are."

The consternation Emma felt at finding out they were apparently lost at sea did not quite overpower her nausea, she she accepted this explanation without any fuss. Surely, a whole ship full of experienced pirates and ex-naval officers could handle getting blown off course by a simple storm. She left them to their work and strolled from one end of the ship to the other, working strength back into her legs. The sea lapped at the side of the boat with content little slaps now. And the rain had given the air a cool, clean smell that quickly scrubbed away the last of Emma's lingering malaise.

She walked up to Turley, who was busy letting out the sails on the foremast. The rain had plastered his hair down over his ears and wetted his shirt clean through. He looked cold and miserable, his jaw clenched tight as he worked.

"Can I help?" she asked him.

"Oh! M'lady! Um…no. No, thank you. I've got this." He tied off a bit of rope and glanced over his shoulder at the captain, who had a map spread open across the helm and a vexed look on his face. "Shouldn't you be down below?" Turley asked.

"Why?"

"Because it's safer."

Emma frowned and glanced around. "The storm's over. Right? What's there to worry about?"

Turley licked his lips and shook his head. "Um…nothin', I guess. I mean…if it's okay by the captain, then I guess it's okay by me?" His voice turned up at end of his sentence, turning it into a question. "Sorry, m'lady, but I can't chat. Got work to do 'fore we can get going, ya see…"

"Right. Of course." She waved at him to continue.

As she made her way back to the captain, she took a hard look at the rest of the crew. Except for Starkey — who, as far as she could tell, never displayed any emotion except for abrasive discontent — everyone looked uneasy. All of them stole regular glances at the captain, as if waiting for him to pass some important verdict.

Were they more lost than she thought? She didn't think anything short of falling off the edge of the world would faze this lot. In fact, the only thing she'd ever heard anyone on the ship express real fear of was…

_Skull Rock._

Of course. They were all waiting to see just how close the winds had blown them toward that dreadful place. Judging from the dark look on the captain's face as he double checked their bearings, she guessed the news would not be good.

"Is everything okay?" she asked him.

Killian didn't look up at her. "Everything's fine, love."

"Doesn't look fine to me," she said quietly, then dropped her voice even lower to ask, "Are we close to Skull Rock?"

"Yes. We are," he replied, loud enough so everyone would hear. He folded the map, tapped it against his other hand, and squinted as he looked up at the sun sitting low on the horizon. "But not so close that the _Jolly Roger_ is in any danger from the creatures living there. The weather is fair now, so we should be able to sail right around the place without ever having to set eyes upon it."

A palpable shudder of relief rippled through the crew. And then, with a rush of movement and chatter, life on board the _Jolly Roger_ snapped back to normal, the shift in mood so sudden it left Emma dazed.

"Go eat something if you can manage it," Killian told her. When she didn't immediately do as he asked, he added with a smirk, "I'll be down soon, darling."

As if she would be waiting in breathless anticipation for him to join her.

Clinging to her last remaining vestiges of defiance, Emma remained on deck. She crossed her arms and leaned against the railing to look out across the ocean as the ship turned back on course, the steady sinking of the sun to the west stretching her shadow out long behind her. In all directions, she could see nothing but water. She wondered just how far out they had traveled, and how far away they were now from the shores of her kingdom.

Had news of her kidnapping traveled that far?

She hoped that, if it had, her parents could somehow sense that she was okay. It pained her to think of them unable to sleep at night for worry that she had been murdered by pirates. Gods knew she had put them through quite enough already with her tavern hopping, sword fighting, and stubborn refusal to do just about everything the world expected a princess to do. Like wear pretty dresses. And marry.

She was wondering what her mother might say if she invited a certain pirate captain to the next ball when a speck of movement to the right of the blinding sun caught her eye.

She blinked, certain she had imagined it.

But the speck only resolved into a distinct, black dot.

Stiff with alarm, she peered back at the rest of the crew, curious if anyone else had seen it. Killian stood occupied, speaking in low tones to Ed who, despite all assurances, still looked concerned. Turley was halfway up the foremast, still working on the sails. And Starkey sat swigging rum with one hand and clutching his injured thigh with the other. He sent her a menacing glare when he spotted her looking his way.

No one had noticed a thing.

She turned back and saw that the dot had grown larger, more distinct.

_A ship._

"Captain?"

Killian didn't respond, still deep in conversation with Ed.

The glare of the sun made it difficult to tell for certain, but Emma thought she could see at least three masts, making it a much bigger ship than the _Jolly Roger_. A war ship, most likely.

"Captain," Emma repeated, more insistent this time. "You really need to see this."

His head snapped around, and he froze for a full second when he followed the direction of Emma's finger, his blue eyes locking in on the other ship. From out of nowhere, he produced a spyglass and raised it to his eye as he joined her on the starboard side. Emma leaned in, trying through the magic of proximity to see what he could see, until he swore.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A bloody frigate," he growled. "With what looks like a corvette not far behind."

He swore again and, unthinking, shoved the spyglass into Emma's hands before bounding off, shouting commands. Emma had to scramble out of the way so as not to get bowled over as the crew rushed to prepare the deck guns. When she finally found a place to stand outside of the mayhem, she extended the length of the spyglass and looked through it. She had to scan over empty water for a few seconds before she managed to find the frigate and the smaller ship some distance behind. With the magnification of the glass, she could clearly see the ship's sails stretched taut into the wind and its flag beating hard at the top of the mast.

Red with a golden flower.

Her breath caught.

"Wait! Stop!" Her feet pounded across the deck as she raced over to the captain. "Don't fire! The frigate is one of my father's!"

Killian motioned for his men to keep at their work. "I know."

"It's okay," she insisted. "They won't attack. Not unless you do first. And once they realize I'm on board…those are _my _men. That's _my_ ship. If we get close enough for them to see me, I can take command of it. They'll escort us all the way back to my kingdom. They'll protect us from Regina."

"Don't count on it," Killian replied. "That corvette accompanying your men _is_ one of Regina's. And they're not going to get close enough to see you, Princess. Not before they blow us out of the water."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do." He rounded on her, all traces of the charming captain gone and nothing but ruthless pirate left. The change was so sudden, so complete, and so unexpected that it left her breathless. "Get down below, love," he said with a shake of his head. "I can't have you underfoot right now."

Unable to speak, she stared at him dumbfounded.

One of her own ships was _right there_. She probably even knew the captain, had probably danced with him once upon a time at a royal function. And he wanted her to walk away? To ignore it? The sight of the ship's familiar banner filled her with such hope and such acute homesickness that she couldn't bear to move even one step in the opposite direction.

It also threw everything on board _this_ ship back into sharp perspective.

Gods, she'd been quick to forget: her violent abduction, the crew comprised of common criminals, and the dubious character of the man standing in front of her. His handsome face made it so tempting to believe that he possessed similar beauty on the inside, that life as a pirate had fallen upon him through no fault of his own. And his easy flirtations made it entirely too easy to hope that he might harbor a soft, romantic heart deep down inside.

The truth was simple and now so obvious that it hurt.

He didn't care that she could commandeer the frigate with a wave of her hand, because if he allowed her to do that, he would have to forfeit her ransom. And that was something a pirate would never do.

"Darling. Please." He looked at her, beseeching. "Do me this favor."

She glanced past him to where the frigate loomed ever larger, close enough now that she could make out the silver and blue painted unicorn figurehead affixed to its prow. She knew it, had seen it before while visiting the docks with her father. The distinctive figurehead had been commissioned to commemorate her sixteenth birthday and designed to resemble the crystal and glass unicorn mobile that had hung over her bassinet as an infant. Her heart constricted painfully at how close they were — her friends, countrymen, and allies…just a short span of water away.

Close enough to swim to.

Before anyone could guess what she had in mind — and well before she had the chance to think twice about how wise it might be — Emma darted toward the side of the ship and vaulted up onto the railing.

"Emma!" Killian's voice rang out behind her.

She crouched.

"_Emma! No!_"

And she jumped.

The force with which she hit the water stunned her.

She sank through the cold, oppressive darkness of the sea, dazed, until the burning in her lungs brought her senses back. Then, desperate for air, she clawed and kicked, her hands pushing, pulling, dragging her upward. Her fingers broke through the surface a split second before her head did, and then she was gasping deep, steadying breaths. Hardly able to believe what she had just done, Emma took a quick look around to orient herself.

The frigate looked a lot farther away down here than it had on board the _Jolly Roger_, but still close enough that she thought she could make it. Though, it wasn't as if she had much choice now.

She ducked her head and began to swim.

There would be no more of this ridiculous kidnapping business, she thought with a hard kick. No more being a prisoner. No more sleeping on the floor. And definitely no more devilishly handsome pirates. Her life could get back to normal again.

She had just started feeling good about this plan to save herself when a stabbing pain in her ankle made her stop. It flared hot and hard with a blinding flash, then abated just as quickly into a dull, disconcerting ache that left her treading water.

_What the hell was that?_

Behind her, someone called out her name, the voice so full of fear that she didn't immediately recognize it as Killian's.

The _Jolly Roger_ had come about and was coming back toward her. Killian stood on the railing looking down, his black coat gone and a length of rope looped around his chest. He gripped the rigging above his head and leaned out over the side as far as he could without losing his footing.

"Stay where you are!" he shouted. "We're coming for you!" The ship moved swiftly underneath him, bearing down on her.

There was no way she could out-swim it, but she turned anyway, meaning to try. If the captain of the frigate spotted her and tried to come get her too, maybe they'd cut their losses and run, maybe…

Something large disturbed the water next to her, sending a chill of pure, animal terror straight through to her core.

"Gods, Emma! Don't move!"

Wanting nothing more than to scream, but afraid to do so, she stilled in the water. The creature brushed past her with a whisper touch of something cold and slippery. She tucked her arms in close to her body, trying to keep her profile as small as possible while still staying afloat, sure with every kick that the thing was going to latch onto her leg and drag her down into the abyss never to be seen again.

_Shit._

What the hell was it?

The water rippled on her other side as it made another pass at her. But a deafening boom from above and the splash of a cannonball into the water made it dart away. Emma looked up to see one of the _Jolly Roger's_ deck guns smoking, Ed aiming its muzzle with grim precision. He fired several more rounds, peppering the sea around her with little explosions. She closed her eyes, convinced his next shot would hit her.

But it was something else that struck her. Something huge and powerful, moving swiftly through its element. She cried out at the impact and flew forward several feet through the water.

"_Emma!_" Killian took a flying leap off the _Jolly Roger_'s deck and came crashing down into the water nearby. The rope he'd tied about his chest pulled taut as the momentum of the ship dragged him toward her.

The hull whipped past her, and then their bodies collided, sending them both spinning. His arms closed tight around her, and Emma sank her fingers deep into his shoulders as the rope dragged them along, forcing sea water up over their heads.

It must have made them look extra tempting, like a fishing lure popping across the still surface of a pond, because the creature immediately pursued them, its form creating a 'V' that raced at them like an arrow through the water.

"It's coming!" she screamed.

"Grab my sword!" Killian yelled back, getting a mouthful of sea water in the process. "They're pulling us in! I've got you! Grab my sword!"

Her hand left his shoulder to grope down his side until her fingers locked around the hilt of his sword. His arms tightened harder around her waist as she pulled it free, the blade slicing through the sea the same as it would slice through flesh. She held it out, ready to defend them.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sea serpent," he gasped.

Emma swore, the sword suddenly seeming a laughably inadequate weapon.

"Can't they pull us in any faster?" she demanded.

The sea serpent flashed by, one of its black fins breaking the surface at the same time as something gigantic lifted Emma and Killian halfway up out of the water. With a strangled cry, she stabbed down at it, feeling glorious resistance as she pierced flesh. The monster surged away, dropping them. As they crashed back down into the water, Emma threw her sword arm back over Killian's shoulder, afraid he might drop her, then wrapped her legs around him too for good measure.

"I think I got it," she told him.

"Good girl."

They slammed into the side of the ship, the pressure of the water rushing past the hull immense for the several seconds they were helpless in its grip. Emma closed her eyes and held on for all she was worth, aware that at any moment the sea serpent could return and snap them up with all the ease of a dog catching a treat. But then they were heaved up out of the water, dangling together, her shoulder bumping into the side of the ship with every tug that brought them a little closer to safety.

"Almost there," Killian said, his voice little more than a groan under the combined pressure of the rope and her weight.

Emma only breathed when a hand reached over the side to grab her.

They landed on the deck together in a wet, tangled heap. Killian's sword clattered out of her grip, though she continued to hold onto him, her muscles slow to catch on to the fact that they were no longer at risk of becoming fish food.

"You all right?" Ed bent over them, concern etched deep into his face.

"Fine. Now get us out of here!" Killian barked. "Fast as the wind will take us!"

"Aye-aye, Captain."

While they disentangled themselves, Ed shouted Killian's orders, bringing the ship about yet again. She had completely forgotten about the frigate until the rapport of a canon blast and the crack of wood made everyone on board duck. Killian fought to get free of the rope as the pirates returned fire. He didn't take command, just hovered protectively over her, while the _Jolly Roger_ slingshot past the bigger ship. The daring maneuver exposed their flank, but for whatever reason, the frigate chose not to take the opening.

"We're pulling away!" Ed shouted.

"Good! Stay the course!" Killian called back.

"We're heading for—"

"I said, stay the course!"

His hand latched around Emma's arm, dragging her to her feet. An arc of pain shot through her ankle when she put her weight on it, leaving her stumbling.

"Come with me," he growled, either not noticing her discomfort or not caring.

He hauled her over to his cabin door and shoved her inside, slamming it shut behind him. Sopping wet, more angry than she had ever seen him, he advanced on her, demanding in a low, threatening tone, "What the _hell_ was that?"

Emma squared her shoulders. "That was me trying to get home," she replied.

"By leaping off the side of the ship into the most dangerous seas in all the realm? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" He stood close enough to her now that they were practically nose to nose, but she refused to give any ground.

"I didn't know that they were godsdamned _dragon infested_ at the time," she snapped.

"It's not just serpents, love." He waved his hand, the wet sleeve of his shirt sending droplets flying everywhere. "You're lucky that storm didn't stir up something even worse. There's creatures out here that could sink the whole damn ship if they so pleased."

"If you would have just listened to me about the frigate in the first place, then—"

"Then they would have blasted us out of the water," he shouted.

"Really? Because they didn't just a minute ago when we passed right in front of their guns."

"Perhaps they were too distracted by the sea serpent circling their ship to notice," he replied. "Because I damn well _know_ they'd have shot us if they had the wherewithal to do so. They didn't hesitate before. This isn't the first of your father's ships I've had the pleasure of meeting since taking you abroad, Princess."

Emma saw red, the flush of anger so intense it left her dizzy. "We've been this close to one of my father's ships before, and you didn't tell me?"

"Why would I?" he countered, the subtext glaring: Y_ou're a prisoner_.

"Maybe because you knew it would turn me against you if I found out that it's not just Regina who wants you dead," she hissed. "Apparently, my father does, too."

He tilted his head and leaned in, turning dangerously seductive. "Let's wonder for a moment exactly _why_ your father is on the war path then, shall we? He shouldn't even know you're gone yet. So why is he sending out ships? And why do they have orders to shoot me on sight? Don't you think he ought to be using a gentler hand, knowing his daughter is on board?" His lip curled up in a sneer. "Who do you suppose _whispered_ in his ear that a dastardly pirate made off with his daughter and that there is no hope of ever getting her back? Hmm?"

Emma shivered, both from the chill of her wet clothes and from the furious heat of his proximity. Her eyes didn't seem to want to stay focused. And she felt flushed all over.

"I don't care," she breathed. "Whatever is going on with Regina is your business. I just want to get home."

"Trust me, love. I want to get you off my ship and back in your castle just as badly as you do."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" she said. "I _can't_ trust you. You're a pirate."

He scowled. "I'm risking my _life_ to get you home."

"Oh, please. You're risking your life for money with a side of vengeance. It has nothing to do with me."

Something she couldn't name flickered in his eyes and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I thought we had an understanding," he said, his voice raw.

She sensed that their argument had shifted into something intensely serious, but was having a hard time keeping herself together. Her head felt unusually fuzzy. "An understanding about what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said and stepped away from her, turning his back. "I'm done with you."

"_Done _with me?" She stormed after him, each step sending an agonizing jet of pain up her leg from her injured ankle. "What do you mean, 'done' with me? I'm not — you can't be — "

The whole ship seemed to tilt underneath her, her vision going fuzzy at the edges.

"We're not — " she continued, trying to force the words out, not sure anymore what she'd been trying to say, only that he couldn't walk away from her yet. "— done."

In her chest, her heart began to slow. Her legs grew molten underneath her. The eerie sensation of floating away from her body, of becoming untethered, left her desperate to grab onto something and save herself from the swiftly encroaching darkness.

"_Killian_?" she gasped.

He turned around, and as the world went black, she pitched forward into his arms.


	5. Which is Full of Danger

A/N: Extra special thanks this chapter go out to OnceUponSomeChaos for agreeing to lend me her excellent services as beta. :)

None are all evil—quickening round his heart,  
One softer feeling would not yet depart…  
-_The Corsair_, Lord Byron

Chapter 5: Which is Full of Danger

Killian caught Emma as she fell forward. Her weight threw him off balance and he stumbled back a step before finding equilibrium again with one arm looped around her waist and the other cradling her head against his chest.

"Emma? Darling?" He drew her body tighter against his, her boots scraping across the floor, until he could tilt her back over his arm. Her eyes remained closed without so much as a flutter as he moved her.

_Gods almighty. Was she…?_

His fingers pressed to the side of her throat.

And her pulse thrummed back against them. Slow but steady.

Weak with relief, he let out a long, shuddering breath.

Would it always be like this with her? Crashing from one wave to the next, from peak to trough and back again with no warning or reason? With the notable exception of the Evil Queen, he couldn't think of another woman who had brought even half this much drama into his life.

A cursory glance up and down her body showed no signs of blood. He lifted her up, carried her the short distance across his cabin to the bed, and laid her down. Rolling her side-to-side, he peeled off her wet jacket, tossing it to the floor, then set about unlacing her boots. As he tugged them off, followed by her socks, his fingers brushed against the chilled skin of her bare feet.

This was, he paused to tell himself, his hands hovering over her body, a purely professional, purely _medical_ procedure. With that firmly in mind, he began his inspection.

Both feet appeared flawless, so he moved upward, rolling her pant legs to her knees.

On the back of her right leg, on her ankle, he felt something hard.

"Ah. There we are."

He rolled her onto her side to get a better look.

The stinger was in deep, only a minuscule fraction sticking out above the skin, its venom sack shriveled and empty. It would have to come out. And better now than when she woke up. Extracting the bloody thing would hurt like hell.

From his desk, he fetched a sharp knife and a flask of rum. With a shake of his head, he poured a liberal portion of liquor over the blade, then some over the exposed wound on her leg. "Honestly, darling," he said with a sigh. "We've wasted more rum this way since you've come aboard…"

Emma didn't move or flinch when he sliced a clean line through her skin, exposing enough of the stinger so that he could get a solid grip on it. As he tugged it free, he winced on her behalf. With the way it resisted, he knew the stinger's backward facing barbs had to be raking across nerves on their way out.

The black, wicked thing left an ugly, bleeding gash when it finally came free. Killian washed the wound out one more time with rum before wrapping a scarf tight around her leg as a bandage, and then rolling Emma onto her back once more.

He knew from experience that she'd be out for some time before the venom wore off. Hours, at the minimum. So it was painfully obvious what he had to do next.

She'd be furious about it when she woke up, but she'd been angry with him anyway before she'd fainted. It wasn't like he had much left to lose.

And, besides, a gentleman such as himself could hardly leave a vulnerable lady to freeze in wet clothes.

Decision made, he unlaced her pants, half-certain that at any second she'd bolt upright in the bed and clock him for it. She didn't, but the pants resisted in her stead. Killian wasn't used to undressing a woman who was anything other than enthusiastically willing. So without any of Emma's assistance, and with the clothing wetted to her skin, the pants proved difficult to remove. Even more distressing, they had adhered to the white, lacy drawers she wore underneath. He tried to separate them — _gods, he tried_ — but when he pulled the pants down over her hips, her drawers went right along with them.

_Bloody hell!_

Emma was going to kill him.

Heart pounding, an annoying tendril of heat coiling in his stomach, he freed her drawers and yanked them back up.

Lucky for her, despite rumors to the contrary, he was not _that kind_ of bad guy. Violating a woman crossed one of the few moral lines he'd retained. And, in any case, he'd never taken any particular kind of pleasure in villainy.

After a great amount of quiet cursing and deep breathing, he managed to get her free of the pants, though they turned inside out in the process.

He drew a heavy, woolen blanket up over her bare legs, then quickly pulled off her shirt. She wore a chemise underneath, which he left her in before pulling the blanket the rest of the way up, tucking it under her chin.

His own clothing had been thoroughly soaked through as well, so he changed and hung everything out to dry. Together, their wet clothes managed to cover nearly every available inch of space in his small cabin: her jacket thrown over the back of a chair, his pants laid across the seat, socks and shirts and his waistcoat spread out over the table and the floor.

Killian picked his way through it to take a seat at the end of the bed, telling himself that he needed to keep an eye on her in case, by some rare chance, the venom caused her heart to stop. But, even though he had no desire to closely examine his motives, he knew the truth was much more complicated than that.

_Done with her_, he thought with a derisive laugh.

So much for that.

* * *

The Huntsman had a headache. Both literally and figuratively.

They had come upon the pirate ship, just as he had predicted, only to lose it. It seemed that he had woefully underestimated his quarry's speed, discounting the wild rumors that the pirate had rebuilt his ship's hull and keel out of enchanted timber. But now he believed it. The Huntsman's ordinary corvette hadn't been able to catch up in time to engage in real battle, only getting off a few glancing shots before the pirate ship had whipped by the frigate and out of range.

The frigate, frustratingly, hadn't fired at all. And he wasn't sure why.

In the calm, evening sea, the two ships sidled up to one another, the frigate dropping a small boat with two officers on board that rowed across the space between the two.

Despite the so-called alliance between the two kingdoms, their reception on board the corvette's deck was frosty.

"I bring news from our captain," the frigate's lieutenant announced.

The Huntsman felt a shudder of foreboding but did his best to suppress it.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Our princess — Emma — is alive."

"You're sure?"

"Aye. We saw her."

The Huntsman affected a smile while his mind whirred. "This is wonderful news," he said.

The lieutenant nodded. "Indeed. Beyond our wildest hopes."

Regina had built up the pirate captain's reputation to a terrifying degree upon delivering news of Emma's capture, and she had assured the Huntsman that the princess's family believed her long dead. Why it mattered to her, or why she had drawn the other kingdom's navy into an alliance with her own, he had no idea. Regina obviously had bigger designs that she hadn't bothered to share. His only concern, she'd informed him, was to make sure that Emma was not recovered alive.

His initial plan had simply been, in any encounter, to sink the pirate ship posthaste.

Now that would no longer be possible.

Which meant he had to more seriously consider riskier alternatives — like boarding the other ship, slaying her, and then allowing the pirate to take the blame.

It would be difficult to pull off.

But he didn't have much choice in the matter.

"We should continue to pursue them all the harder then," he said.

The lieutenant shook his head. "Our captain wants to let them go for the time being."

"Let them go? Why?"

"Because they fled in the direction of Skull Rock. Now that we know the princess is on board and alive, we don't want to push them any closer to the island than we already have. We would like to hang back and wait for them to pass out of danger before picking up the hunt once more."

"Your princess is in danger every moment she spends on that ship, whether she is close to Skull Rock or not," the Huntsman pointed out.

"We don't think so." The lieutenant smiled, bemused. "When we approached the ship, Princess Emma jumped overboard. We think she meant to swim to us. But she caught the attention of a sea serpent instead. One of the pirates jumped in and saved her."

The Huntsman froze, astonished at this news.

They not only had seen proof that their princess still lived, but had managed to witness the dastardly pirate saving her life? Godsdamn, this ruined everything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Regina had sworn that Killian Jones was rotten to the core. None of his plans had anticipated that the man might be willing to risk life or limb for her. So why had he? What did the princess mean to him? Ransom? Revenge? Something else…?

Perhaps if this Skull Rock place was as bad as everyone claimed, it would take care of the whole problem for him.

_One can only hope_.

"Okay," he said. "We will wait with you to see if they pass by Skull Rock unscathed."

The lieutenant clasped the Huntsman's hand and shook it, his face bright. "We will all be praying that they do, sir."

"Yes." The Huntsman rubbed his chest where a tight, steady ache had settled, right above his heart, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it. "I'll be praying as well."

* * *

Killian looked out over the _Jolly Roger_'s empty deck, struck by the stillness. The ropes above him creaked with the wind. And the planks below groaned against the waves. But nothing else dared to stir. All of his crew had holed up below, hoping that their passage through this dangerous stretch of water might go unnoticed.

He knew when he'd ordered Ed to put them on the fastest course away from the frigate that they would be sailing right toward Skull Rock. But hadn't meant to get _this_ close.

His terror and fury had distracted him.

The realization that Emma preferred a flying leap off the ship to spending another day in his company had cut deeply. Watching as the dark shadow of the sea serpent circled her had felt even worse. When he'd gotten her safely back onto the ship, all he'd wanted to do was drag her off into the privacy of his cabin and let it out: to yell at her, shake her, hug her, kiss her. When she'd called out his name, scared and vulnerable, and then collapsed into his arms, his duties captaining the ship had flown even further from his mind. At least until Smee and come knocking on his cabin door, begging him to come back above deck and adjust their course.

So now, here they were. Within sight of the wretched place. He didn't truly believe that their hasty plan would succeed. Gods knew his luck had been atrocious lately. And with so few ships coming this way, he knew the monsters living there had to be getting ravenous. He narrowed his eyes and peered out into the darkness, wondering if across the water at this very moment, a pair of inhuman eyes stared right back.

After some time, Ed snuck up onto the deck to relieve him from his watch.

"Go get some sleep," Ed whispered. "Been a hell of a day."

That it had.

As much as Killian wanted to stand guard, there was nothing he could do if the worst happened. So he nodded, gave Ed a quiet thanks, and descended into his cabin. A plate of food sat untouched on the table, snuggled in between bits of still damp clothing, and he could see the glow of Emma's blond hair spilling out from underneath a tight cocoon of blankets as she slept off the last of the venom.

She stirred at the sound of his steps.

"Captain?" she murmured.

"Don't get up on my account, love."

She sat up onto her elbows anyway.

"What happened?" She rubbed her eyes and looked around, trying to orient herself. "Did I…oh, dear gods. Did I pass out?"

"Aye." He smirked at how distressed she sounded at the possibility, and couldn't help adding, "I knew from the moment I met you that you'd end up in my arms one day. Admittedly, I'd hoped you would still be conscious when it happened…"

She groaned and fell back onto the pillow, slinging her arm over her face. "Was it the sea serpent? Did it poison me?"

"No. Not the serpent." He reached into his pocket and fetched the stinger, black and jagged, half the length of his thumb. Emma sat up, brushing back the blanket, and held out of her hand. He placed it gently into her palm.

"What is it?"

"Stinger from a fainting fish."

"A fainting fish?" Her eyes flashed up to his. "You're serious? I survived a godsdamned sea serpent attack only to get taken down by a _fainting fish_?"

"A rather bad break," he replied with a nod. At her stricken expression, he added, "Don't let the name fool you, love. They are fearsome creatures. Not a fish at all, in fact. And thick in these waters. They sting their prey and then retreat until the venom takes effect."

"Once its prey loses consciousness, it moves in and finishes the job?"

"Actually, it frequently doesn't bother. Just feeds."

"Eaten alive? Wonderful." She handed him back the stinger, then scrubbed her hand clean against the bed before snaking it underneath the covers and tunneling down to explore the bandage around her ankle. "I thought you were done with me," she pointed out in a quiet voice.

"Doesn't mean I'd leave you to suffer."

Her expression softened, and she opened her mouth to say something, but he never knew what. Her mouth snapped shut before she got any of the words out, realization dawning. Her hand moved up the length of her bare leg underneath the blanket and she pinned him with a hot, green glare.

"You undressed me?"

"Would you rather I'd left you wet and shivering?"

"Maybe."

"Come now. I left your modesty intact."

_Mostly..._

She rolled her eyes at his presumptuousness, and paused when she noticed the plate of food on the table. "Is that…?" She sat up straighter. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Either Smee or Turley had probably brought it down at some point while he'd been on watch. Grateful it had distracted her, that he would get off easy for daring to undress her, he hastily fetched the plate, snatching a bit of hardtack for himself before depositing it in Emma's lap.

A small smile curved her lips as she tucked the blanket up under her arms and set about devouring everything on the plate. Her hair stuck up in wild array from drying wet against her pillow, and she looked, for all the world, like a woman who had just been roused after a long night spent in the company of her lover. Their clothing spread conspicuously about the room only added to the illusion. He had to look away, the darkness not deep enough to hide his interest. A long drag of rum helped to wash down the tasteless, dry hardtack.

"It's quiet," Emma said between bites.

He shrugged. "It's late."

"Even so, there is usually someone awake, moving about."

"Ed is steering the ship."

She eyed him cannily. "Just Ed?"

That he had inadvertently delivered them into harm's way, and done so because he'd been too distracted by her to properly tend to his duties, embarrassed him. The last thing he wanted to do was admit it to her. But he also needed her to be prepared to defend herself against what lurked out in the dark. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, stroking the stubble on his jaw while he regarded her, weighing his options.

The decision was startlingly easy.

"I want to give you something," he announced.

Her gaze never left him as he got up, retrieved a key from the end of necklace that he kept tucked inside of his shirt, and fitted it into the lock on the trunk at the foot of his bed. Emma crawled to the edge of the mattress on her hands and knees, her meal forgotten. Intensely aware of her scrutiny, he sifted through the contents of the chest, pushing aside what remained of his Navy uniform, a wooden box filled with his brother's war medals, and a leather bound book of star charts that described skies unknown in this realm, until he found what he was looking for.

"Here," he said and handed it to her.

With a dubious look, she sat up on her knees and took the cutlass from him.

"You're giving me a weapon?"

"Aye."

"Even after what happened today?"

"You may need it."

The moonlight coming in through the slanted windows above the bed cast her hair in a golden glow and winked off the well-polished blade as she tested it with an expert hand. She looked like a vengeful goddess, all smooth cream and hard steel.

"It belonged to my brother," he added with a tight smile.

Immediately, the way she held it changed. Killian's dark heart warmed to see her reverence — her instinctual care for the memory of a man she had never met. She blinked slow and soft as she turned the cutlass about, looking at it anew. When she met his gaze again, he sensed a change in her, the delicate turn of her mouth and an added shine to her eyes telling him that a wave of emotion had swelled up within her at the gift, though she refused to let it rise all the way to the surface.

"Thank you," she said, as sincere as he'd ever seen her.

It made him uncomfortable, so he looked away, saying nothing as she climbed down from his bed to lay the cutlass on the floor next to her own.

Within easy reach, he noticed.

_All the better to slay me with during the night_.

Maybe he deserved it, he thought as he closed and relocked the chest. Not once since Liam's death had he felt a flicker of remorse. Every dark deed, every bad choice, had been justified by the greater good which he served. But Emma's rejection had given him an unwelcome and unexpected jolt of clarity. He saw himself suddenly through her eyes, and didn't like what he found.

Perhaps if they made it through the next twenty four hours, he could take a long hard look inside of himself and see if anything remained of Killian Jones, the honorable naval lieutenant — who might actually stand a chance at winning Emma's trust, if not her affection — or if that man had been well and truly supplanted by the villain he'd since become.

* * *

After her conversation with Killian, Emma couldn't fall back asleep. For a long time, she'd lain on her side, looking down at the cutlass in the moonlight. It was standard issue, average and unremarkable in every way, except for the heavy weight of memories it carried. Because Liam Jones had once owned it. Had used it to defend his own life and to fight for his kingdom. He'd probably died with it at his side. And all these years, Killian had held onto it, had treasured it, before entrusting it to her.

She was used to the man rousing a whole host of feelings in her.

But tenderness wasn't one of them.

She'd meant to say more than thank you, but hadn't been able to put into words what she didn't yet understand. In the last several hours, the diabolical pirate captain who had kidnapped her had done the most unexpected things. He'd caught her when she fell. He'd tended to her injuries. And he had leapt into the ocean to save her from a sea monster. It struck her now, as it hadn't in the heat of the moment, that he had been able to see the serpent's shadow circling her and had known that he would have to contend with the creature in order to bring her back aboard.

He'd risked his life.

_For her._

Where the hell had this sudden selfless streak come from?

She got up before dawn. All night, the ship had floated in dead silence, except for the occasional creak of a board overhead letting her know that someone stood at the helm. Made uneasy by the stillness, she quickly dressed, then fitted the strap on Liam's sword belt so that she could sling it over her shoulder and hang the cutlass down her back.

"Getting ready for war, darling?" Killian asked from the bed.

She got the impression that he hadn't slept either.

"You tell me," she replied. "Something's up. I can feel it."

He heaved a sigh and sat up. One hand scratched the side of his neck. He looked almost…ashamed. Or guilty. Emma was surprised to see it; she had honestly thought him immune to the emotion.

"We have drifted close to Skull Rock," he told her, his tone low. "Too close. If we are exceptionally lucky, we may be able to pass by without being noticed."

Emma swallowed. "And if we're not exceptionally lucky?"

"Then we will be forced to fight for our lives."

"What's out there, exactly? You said demons."

"Of a variety." He grabbed his own sword and secured it around his waist. At some point, he had changed out of the red waistcoat and into an all black ensemble. "You will have heard them called sirens."

"I thought sirens lived in lakes." She tried to recall a story she'd heard about a siren once — one her father had told her when she'd been little. "They're supposed to be beautiful women who lure men into the water and then drown them."

"The tales you have heard are almost entirely wrong," he replied. "The truth is far more gruesome."

She smiled humorlessly. "Not beautiful, then?"

"Their _faces_ are," he said wryly. "And they do hold some sway over men. That much is true. But they prefer to eat their catch, not drown it."

"So, what you're saying is…if they notice our ship passing by, they'll come and snatch whoever they want for breakfast?"

"That is the thrust of it. Yes."

"I don't even know why I'm surprised. Is there anything out here that doesn't want to eat us?"

"Very little," he replied seriously.

They climbed the ladder together up to the main deck. Emma felt both relieved and troubled that Killian didn't try to convince her to stay below. She wasn't sure how to interpret it. Was he making a concerted effort to show her trust in an effort to earn it for himself? Or was he simply disengaged, making good on his threat that he was "done" with her? He certainly hadn't seemed done when he cut the fainting fish stinger out of her leg. Or when he'd given her his dead brother's sword. But she had a hard time believing that he wanted a real relationship — something beyond their usual captor and captive dynamic, or their flirting and innuendo.

_An understanding._

Smee stood at the helm. He let out a huge sigh of relief when Killian appeared.

"Captain!" He let go of the wheel and visibly shrank as the last of his bravado gave out. "We are steady on course, sir. No hint of movement from the island through my shift."

Killian produced his spyglass and trained it on the horizon, zeroing in on a black hump of land.

"Excellent news. Thank you, Mister Smee."

"May I be excused then?" he asked, rocking from foot to foot.

"Aye." Killian waved him away. "Tell Turley, Bill, and Starkey to come up."

Smee scurried away, like a rat back to its den. Emma watched him with disdain, repulsed by the man's cowardice much more so than she had ever been by the captain's villainy.

"What can I do?" she asked, turning to him.

"Stay close, he replied. "And keep your eyes open."

Obediently, Emma cast her gaze toward the island. The weight of the cutlass felt reassuring at her back.

At length, Turley, Bill, and Starkey appeared as bidden and Killian set them to work. The _Jolly Roger_ was not a large ship. And there were never very many men on deck at once. But Emma had gotten used to a constant stirring, to the sense of people moving about unseen, like ants in an anthill. The eerie calm on board the ship now chilled her blood. It felt as if she'd been standing in a crowd of people one moment, and then looked around the next to find them all gone.

The sirens had the whole crew terrified.

To Emma, Skull Rock looked comfortably far away. She couldn't judge the distance exactly, but figured at the very least they would have ample warning if the sirens decided to attack.

She leaned against the rail, the gentle pre-dawn breeze clean and crisp as it brushed across her cheek.

Gradually, her mind began to drift.

She thought of her parents, homesickness striking her anew. When she returned, she vowed to spend more time with them and less flitting about the kingdom. All of the sudden, she wanted to ask them things that she'd never even thought of before, like how they had met and fallen in love. In passing, she'd heard bits and pieces of their tale — something about a rock, a stolen bit of jewelry, and a troll — but had never heard it all put together into a solid narrative. She'd never heard from her mother what finding true love felt like. And now she might never know.

As the sun came up, warm and soothing, she imagined what her first day home again might be like.

Priority number one: a real bath, in a basin big enough to sink down into up to her neck, with scented soaps and oils. Sponge bathing with a cold bowl of water and a rough rag had long ago grown tiresome.

After that, she decided, she'd have a feast with bread still warm from the oven, slathered in melted butter; fresh greens tossed with crumbly cheese, slices of pear, caramelized pecans, and a tangy vinaigrette; savory chicken broth; a spit of tender, fall-apart-in-your-mouth roast beef; decadently whipped chocolate pudding with juicy strawberries; and a bottle of the castle's best red wine.

Then she'd retire for the night into her big, pour poster feather bed.

_Ahh, gods._ Had she really lived like that once? It seemed far away now. Like a dream…

The ship caught a wave and lurched underneath her, snapping her out of her reverie.

With a start, she looked up and saw Skull Rock shifting toward the bow along the horizon as they tracked a wide arc through the sea. They were turning, she realized. Right toward the island.

"What are you doing?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Killian.

"Captaining the ship, love."

"We're headed right toward Skull Rock!"

Incredulous, he waved away her concern. But the wheel continued to turn under his hands.

"_Captain_," she implored. "We're going the wrong way."

When she stepped up beside him to put a hand on the wheel, he elbowed her away. Not maliciously. But unthinkingly. As if he were swatting a fly.

"Turley?" She looked down across the main deck, hoping for an ally, and found him standing with a length of rope hanging limp in his hands.

_What in the world?_

Starkey and Bill looked the same — struck dumb, just shells of bodies, their minds and souls tied up elsewhere. The entire ship sat sheathed in heavy silence. And then, over the steady metronome beat of the waves and Emma's own racing heart, she heard it: so soft and high as to be near indistinguishable from the wind, but with deliberate form and presence and thought.

_Singing_.

A shiver raced down her spine, leaving the hair on her arms standing on end.

Killian had said that the sirens possessed "some control" over men. Was this what he had meant? That their song could possess them? Drive them into a stupor? No wonder the crew was so terrified. The sirens didn't even need to come out to the ship to fetch their breakfast. They could call any man unlucky enough to wander within earshot straight to their shore.

Lucky for everyone involved, it didn't appear to work so well on her.

There had to be a way to snap Killian out of it as well before he sailed them all straight to their doom. Going with the most obvious, she grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him around to face her.

"Sorry about this," she said, then balled up her fist and swung.

It connected hard, cracking him straight across the jaw in a blow that rang painfully up her arm.

His head snapped back, and he stumbled away from her.

He groaned and dabbed blood out of the corner of his mouth with one thumb. "Emma? What in blazes…?

"You have to turn the ship around," she said. "_Now_."

His bloodied hand moved back to the wheel and his gaze swept over the sea, struggling to get his bearings. He swallowed hard and steadied himself, realization of what had happened slowly dawning.

"Bloody hell," he breathed. "They know we're here."

The wheel swung around in his hands, making the ship shudder against the waves as it fought to turn.

"Brace yourself, darling. They'll be here soon."

On the ship? Skull Rock was still across a large stretch of water. Too far too swim. She didn't see how the sirens could get from there to the _Jolly Roger_ in any reasonable amount of time unless they could…

_Oh hell_.

Emma unsheathed her sword and looked up.

A few scant seconds later, the sirens came screaming down out of the sky.

From the chest down, they were all bird: a falcon's grasping talons tucked close to their feathered bodies as they dove, their wings massive and black with mock red eyes emblazoned on the bottom. But the upper half was human. Was _woman_. Bare breasts jutted out above their bellies. And at the shoulder they possessed arms which stretched over the length of their wings to the first joint, where gnarled, rudimentary hands emerged. Emma's courage wavered at the sight of their unnatural dichotomy.

One siren's beautiful face twisted in a snarl as it swooped low over the ship, close enough that the wind from its wing beats ruffled Emma's clothes. She ducked, brandishing her sword above her head.

Demons. _Holy shit._

Another landed on the mainsail, her claws digging deep into the cloth. A second joined her, and together they ripped and tore at the sail, shredding open a gaping hole.

Emma moved to stop them, but another dove at her before she could take a single step. She took a wild swing at the creature, but missed. It moved too quickly, its wings carrying it back into the sky long before her sword completed its arc.

They circled like hawks above the ship.

"What do we do?" she shouted.

"Do your best to hold them off!" Killian swung his sword at one as well. "Don't let them grab you!"

The commotion had knocked Turley, Bill, and Starkey out of their trance. All three jabbed and sliced at the sirens laying waste to the sails, though it did them no good. Emma and Killian, meanwhile, grabbed whatever they found loose on the deck that could be used as a projectile and threw it at them. A poof of feathers exploded off the back of one siren that Killian managed to hit with a hook, but the creature merely screamed and took off, only to be replaced by another.

Emma felt as if she was battling the wind itself.

One of the sirens circling peeled off from the flock to dive toward the main deck. Turley, Bill, and Starkey all jumped for cover — Starkey somewhat slower than the other two, hindered by his limp. Emma raced down the companionway, her cutlass raised to defend him, but siren snatched him up by the arms and sailed over the ship's railing with him. The creature's huge wings easily accommodated the extra weight. With a few firm flaps, she gained altitude, taking Starkey far above the height of the mainmast. His legs kicked and flailed and Emma heard him cry out, a guttural scream of pure terror, as the siren banked and headed back toward the island.

Mouth hanging open in horror, Emma barely pulled herself back together in time to avoid the next attack.

The main deck continued to be ceaselessly harassed. Emma could do little to help as Turley and Bill fought for their lives.

From her hiding spot tucked up against the companionway, Emma saw one of the sirens land in the rigging above the helm, just a few meager feet above Killian's head. He ducked underneath the wheel, his sword poised above him.

"Back again, Captain?" she said. Her wings folded to her side with a whisper ruffle of feathers. A cruel smile lit her face.

"Aye. Glad to see me, harpy?"

"Always." She licked her lips. "You look like such a delicious morsel of a man. 'Twas a shame I didn't get to sample you the last time. I long to find out how you taste."

"I've heard nothing but good reports," he retorted. "But I'm afraid you'll never know, my dear."

She spread her massive wings, blacking out the rising sun, and leaped at him.

Emma lunged up the steps. The other sirens buffeted her the whole way, a whirl of feathers and claws as they attacked in full force, grabbing anything they could get a hold of. One strong claw wrapped around Emma's left arm, lifting her off the ground. With a cry, she swung her weight and pivoted enough to slice at it with her sword. The blade moved easily through the scaly flesh of the siren's leg, making it screech and drop her.

With a painful thud, she landed back on the companionway. Overbalanced onto one foot, she fell forward onto her hands.

At the helm above her, Killian ducked and weaved through the rigging like a rabbit in a bramble while the siren pursued him.

As Emma scrambled back to her feet, the siren landed on the deck itself, tucking her wings back so that she could use her hands to peel rope out of the way. Killian slashed at her with his sword, slicing a handful of feathers off the tip of her ebony wing.

Her face contorted, and her eyes flashed yellow.

"Enough!" she shouted, the word sounding more like the scream of a falcon than the cry of a woman. "Fight me no more, human!"

To Emma's astonishment and utter horror, Killian's sword clattered against the deck. He looked down at it with a stunned expression, his hand open and motionless, seemingly no longer his own.

_No._

Emma raced up the steps toward him, heart pounding in her ears.

The siren turned and looked at Emma, her gaze cold, and then spread her wings.

_No-no-no…_

A guttural, animal yell tore free of Emma's throat as she launched herself at the creature, meaning to drive her cutlass straight through the siren's black, meager heart. But the siren took to the air before Emma reached her, casually snatching Killian up in her talons as she flew off the back of the ship and out over the water.

Their eyes met a second before he vanished with her over the side: his wide and blue with fear, hers desperate in the face of certain defeat.

Gasping for breath, her stomach rolling, her knees gave out and she collapsed against the railing. She watched helplessly as the siren flew low over the water with Killian tight in her grip, their forms quickly dwindling into nothing but a dark speck in the distance.

Her face felt hot. It took her a moment to realize a burst of angry tears tracked down her cheeks.

_Pull yourself together_, she admonished herself. _This isn't over yet._

Dashing her tears away with the back of her hand, she spun around to call out for Turley or Bill, but the rest of the deck stood empty. Both men gone. Above, a few stray sirens circled twice before apparently declaring her not worth the effort and joining the rest in flight back toward Skull Rock.

Emma stood trembling. Alone.

In the dead silence that followed, her horror began to transform slowly and inexorably into pure, boiling rage. Her hand gripped the hilt of her cutlass until her knuckles turned white.

The creak of wood let her know that the rest of the crew was stirring. A moment later, Ed crept hesitantly up onto the deck, followed by Skylights and Mullins. They ducked low as they stepped out into the sun, their weapons poised. Gradually, the rest of the crew filtered up to join them.

"Princess?" Ed touched Emma's elbow. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

He swallowed hard, looked around the ship once, and nodded. "Okay. Good. Then we will—uh—they should be satisfied for a while. It may give us time to escape."

Emma turned on him, the fire inside her roaring high. "_Escape?_"

He jerked his hand away, startled by her tone.

"We're not going anywhere," she announced, raising her voice to ensure that everyone on board heard her loud and clear. She held out her cutlass, able to feel the power of her anger radiating up her arm. "We're going to stay right here, mend our sails, and retrieve our men! We will not leave our friends — or our _captain_ — to die on that rock!" She swung her sword around to point off the side of the ship. "Anyone who disagrees can walk the _bloody_ plank!"

The crew shifted and murmured as they looked up at her, but no one raised their voice in defiance.

In response, she barked orders, assigning the men she trusted least to get to work on mending the sails and reserving the rest to help her plot and execute an assault on the island.

Ed's face was pale. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Emma didn't have a doubt in her mind.

"I won't abandon them," she said.

He tilted his head. "Even if it means your own life?"

"It won't," Emma assured him, confident in her rage.

She bet in all their long, horrible lives, the sirens had never once dealt with a woman. With someone they couldn't control. Someone whose heart drove her with single-minded purpose toward the man who'd so recently risked his life for her own.

"Those monsters just attacked the wrong godsdamned ship."


	6. In Which Emma Takes Charge

A/N: Many, many multitude of thanks to OnceUponSomeChaos for the very hard work and long hours she put in beta reading this chapter. It really wouldn't half as good without her.

'Tis rash to meet—but surer death to wait  
Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate  
-_The Corsair_, Lord Byron

Chapter 6: In Which Emma Takes Charge

Emma's plan to go to Skull Rock, defeat the sirens, and save Killian came together quickly. With her cutlass hanging against her back and the captain's sword in hand, she stalked the main deck, shouting commands. Already, several men were hard at work mending the tattered sails. The few still able to catch a breeze billowed and strained, pulling the ship along a sluggish course toward the island. Behind the ship and off to either side, nets dragged through the water.

"Let's pull one up and see what we've got," she ordered.

Mullins and Smee looped the leads through a pulley and hauled the net in. Emma peered over the railing, Ed beside her, both of them eager to get a look at their catch.

"Clear the deck!" Ed shouted as the net lifted out of the water, laden with a wriggling mass.

The crew scrambled up onto the safety of the ship's forecastle, Skylights even going so far as to scale the mast.

Another mighty heave, and the net came up over the side to slap down onto the deck at Emma's feet. Inside, the creatures they had caught began to writhe in earnest. Emma made out several fish, their scales gleaming silver and blue in the sunlight, but the rest she couldn't identify.

"Careful now." Ed held her back with one arm. "Not too close."

"Do you see any?" she asked.

"Aye. A few."

With great care, Ed and Mullins peeled the net open and sorted through its contents, tossing most of the fish to Smee who gutted and cleaned them for the night's meal. Those recognized as inedible, they threw overboard, along with several jellies, two squid, and something that looked disconcertingly like a baby sea serpent.

Ed kicked free a dark red creature. "There's your fainting fish, m'lady."

Emma bent down to get a better look.

The fainting fish was the size of a small pig, its body segmented into three parts, each armored with a knobby shell. A long, pointy tail stuck out the back and thrashed in time with the four paddle-shaped legs struggling for purchase against the dry timbers. A menacing row of serrated teeth kept its mouth from closing completely, giving it a permanent leer.

"Those are the spines," Ed said, pointing to the half-dozen worm-like, waving appendages protruding from underneath its carapace. "Shoots 'em out like a frog's tongue and stabs at whatever swims by."

Lips curled in disgust, a pang firing through her bandaged ankle, Emma took a large step back. "This is easily the ugliest creature I have ever seen," she said.

"Ain't nothing pretty about these beasts," Ed agreed.

At least they were easy to catch.

They had netted five, which Ed and Mullins quickly dispatched. The business of harvesting their stingers proved somewhat more troublesome and time consuming. Emma paced while the men worked, not trusting the steadiness of her hands to help.

Though the _Jolly Roger_ moved at a snail's speed under its reduced sails, Skull Rock began to grow close enough for her to pick out details. She used one of Killian's spyglasses to get a better look, hoping that the terrain might shed some light on what to expect when they made landfall.

Skull Rock appeared to be just that — a rock. Only a little vegetation clung to the outer fringes of the island, most of it mounds of low brush punctuated by gangly trees with long, skinny limbs and needlelike leaves. The spire of rock that had given the island its name did vaguely resemble a skull, the dark impression of caves pockmarking the mountain-face providing eyes and a mouth.

The sirens made their home there, she figured.

They were half bird, after all, and the mountain represented the highest point on the island.

Emma ordered the crew to weigh anchor half a league out.

"We will take a rowboat the rest of the way," she told Ed. "Everyone else is to stay here and prepare the ship to leave as soon as we return."

"Who are you taking with you?" Ed asked.

Emma had put a lot of thought into who she wanted with her and was grateful she had already tested the sword skills of every man on board. Bill Jukes would have been her first choice had he not been snatched by the sirens in the attack. In Bill's stead, she'd chosen the next best swordsman, Foggerty, as well as Mullins for his loyalty, and Skylights for his eyes.

Ed looked hurt. "Princess. I'd be honored to fight by your side."

"I know. But I need you to keep everything in order here."

The way that Ed glanced at Smee and then at the group of men on the forecastle deck before nodding his agreement let Emma know that he understood what she had not wanted to say. Without a captain, and with her gone, someone had to remain behind to control the crew, otherwise Emma feared she'd rescue Killian only to discover that the _Jolly Roger_ had left without them. As soon as the sails were mended, the men would be anxious to make their escape. Only a firm hand like Ed's could hope to keep them from mutiny. The instinct for self-preservation above honor ran high amongst this lot.

"I won't let you down," Ed vowed.

She smiled at him and pushed a stray bit of hair out of her eyes. "How are we coming with the fainting fish?"

"Caught five off the starboard side, three off port, and four off the stern."

Emma nodded, satisfied. "Twelve. Should be plenty."

The deck had turned into a slippery mess, littered with scales, hacked up fainting fish corpses, and blue-black blood. Mullins had collected several dozen stingers in a bowl. Emma's ankle pained her as she squatted down to look at them. Each stinger had a small venom sack attached, swollen and full of fluid.

Emma picked up a stinger in one hand, an arrow in the other.

Skylights had produced a single bow and arrow set from the depths of the armory — a weapon, he explained, that they sometimes employed to set fire to enemy ships, like they had with hers when she'd been abducted. No one on board had much skill with a bow, so it been neglected for some time. The wood felt spongy and, if she'd had the time and materials, Emma would have insisted upon having it restrung, but under the circumstances, it would have to do.

With Ed's help, she tied a stinger to the end of each arrow, knotting it tight with a bit of sewing thread. The remaining stingers they cut open, emptying out the venom sacks into the bowl, laboriously collecting a tiny pool of clear liquid. Once they finished, Emma painted a thin coat of venom onto her cutlass, as well as onto the sword of each man who would accompany her.

The whole process had taken a terrible amount of time.

Emma's heart clenched as she looked up at the sun high in the sky.

_Hold on, Killian, _she thought. Her hand gripped tight around the hilt of her cutlass, glimmering with the coating of venom. _I'm coming._

* * *

The siren dropped Killian to the ground at full speed. He tucked and rolled, but the impact knocked the breath out of him. Lungs burning, he came to a stop against a rock wall and lay there, gasping. Above him, he saw the siren circle back around and land, alighting as gently as a bee onto the soft petals of a flower.

She had flown him to the middle of the island, up to the stone spur that made up its backbone, and then through a dark opening that had brought them here: the main chamber of what appeared to be a large cavern system. The hole which they had entered through opened out the top to blue sky and bright sun, a yellow shaft of light spearing down to the floor at his right. The walls were littered with nooks and crannies where the sirens settled themselves like swallows on a cliff face.

Forcing air back into his chest, he sat himself up.

Across the way, he spotted Starkey, Bill, and Turley.

But not Emma.

_Thank the gods._

The sirens chittered and fluttered, gathering. Eight in all.

Surprised, he counted again. It had seemed like there'd been more of them when they'd attacked the ship.

"Who do we start with?" one of the sirens was saying, her wings shifting with excitement.

A chorus of answers rippled through the flock:

"The big one!"

"The handsome one! I bet he's sweet!"

"Let's eat them all at the same time!"

The other sirens tittered at this last suggestion.

Killian frowned. Bad enough, he thought, to get captured. But for the rest of the crew to share his gruesome fate? For Emma? They would need the better part of the day to mend the sails and then a full night to sail out of the sirens' range. That left him with one purpose in his short, miserable existence: to ensure that these monsters took at least one day and night to consume their catch.

He pulled himself to standing.

"For shame, my dears!" he called out. "What are you? Ladies or animals?"

Everyone turned to look at him in shocked silence — his three fellow captives included.

"Why the rush?" he continued. "You would crouch down and devour your meal like a pack of wolves? Bad form."

The siren who had captured him shifted her feathers in a haughty, regal way. "Animals? You dare insult us? We are as far above men as you are above the fish in the sea. We command your very minds. To you, we are as _gods_."

Killian was unimpressed and let it show. "I am only suggesting, my dear, that you eat a proper, courtly meal as ladies of your distinction ought."

One of the other sirens hopped down from her perch to land on the cave floor. Her eyes darted between the four men as she licked her lips. "The human has a point. I am so tired of lizard tails. I want the chance to try each and every one of these tender men. One at a time."

"Yes. Let's savor them," another added. "I want to slowly suck the marrow from their bones. To lick the fat from between their ribs."

Not exactly the image of a proper meal Killian had in mind, but heading in the direction he wanted. He ducked his head and shrank back against the wall as the sirens talked amongst themselves, their mood shifting as their human desire for luxury began to override their animal instinct to gorge.

"We will start with one," the lead siren announced. "If he does not prove filling, then we will select another, and eat until we are content."

She walked the chamber, passing by each captive. When she lingered in front of Killian, he said, "Like what you see?"

She smiled, running her tongue over her teeth. Despite his bravado, he flinched.

"The big one," she said, looking away. "Throw the others in the pit."

All of the blood drained out of Bill's tattooed face. Killian had no chance to call out, no chance to offer himself in Bill's place, before two sirens landed on either side of him and began buffeting him along with their wings. Heartsick, he glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Bill who he could hear swearing and struggling, but saw only feathers.

Would they eat the poor man alive, Killian wondered, or kill him first?

He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

Together, the two sirens had him outmatched. They shoved him hard out of the chamber, through a narrow tunnel, deeper into the cave system, until they reached a hole in the floor. Killian leaned forward to look down into it, not sure what to expect, when one of the sirens toppled him down into the void. He landed with a bone jarring thump. A moment later, Starkey and Turley joined him.

The pit was little more than a cup-shaped impression in the cave floor — an old cavern that the ceiling had rotted away in — deep enough that Killian couldn't reach the edge above his head.

After a minute, he said, "Turley. Come here, mate. I need a boost."

"Why?" Turley frowned. "There's nowhere to go. No escape."

Starkey grunted, full of ire. "Why? To raise hell! That's why! You gonna let those harpies butcher you without a fight? Cuz I sure ain't."

"I'll not go quietly," Killian agreed. He couldn't sit by while the sirens feasted. Plus, making the creatures' lives difficult might earn Emma and everyone else precious time in which to escape. "It's our duty. Is it not? As pirates."

"Aye!" Starkey echoed. "As pirates!"

"Come on." Killian rested a hand on Turley's shoulder and smiled darkly. "Let's do what we're best at and cause some mayhem."

* * *

Emma wanted to paddle, just to have something to do, but Mullins wouldn't hear of it. He manned one oar, Foggerty the other. Together they tugged the small boat swiftly toward shore. More armed than she had ever been in her entire life, Emma wore her cutlass on her back, the bow slung over her right shoulder, and a quiver of arrows tipped with fainting fish stingers over her left. She'd wanted to bring Killian's sword along as well but hadn't been able to find a place for it.

A shame — she missed its weight.

Not to mention the man normally attached to it.

Skull Rock loomed before her, bigger than she'd imagined.

"How did a bunch of sirens end up way out here anyway?" she asked, needing to break up the silence, not expecting an answer.

"Legend tells that they used to be mermaids," Mullins said. "They became fascinated with the world above, and the sea king cursed them for it. Said if they loved the air so much, they could fly in it as birds and feast upon men as they once had upon fish."

Emma blew out a breath. "Well. That seems a little harsh."

"Aye."

"Do you see anything?" she asked Skylights.

He shaded his eyes and gave the shore and sky a closer look before shaking his head. "No. Nothing. They must be in the mountain."

Just where Emma had hoped. If the sirens lived inside the mountain and had taken the men into the confines of rocky passages, the sirens would no longer have the advantage of flight, putting them, literally, on equal footing. It had probably never even entered the creatures' minds that someone might hunt _them_, or that their lair was anything other than a fortress. Even better, from inside the mountain, the sirens wouldn't see her coming.

She didn't want to admit how much of her plan depended on the element of surprise.

Close to the island, they began to come upon the wreckage of old ships. Not much remained, but a few masts stuck out above the waterline, and below Emma could make out the shadowy forms of hulls and keels lying against the white sandy shelf the island sat upon.

"A vast treasure is down there somewhere," Mullins said.

Emma looked up from the ghostly specter of the wrecks. "Is that what you came here looking for the first time?"

"Aye. We didn't believe the rumors about this place. Figured they were started to protect the treasure." He squinted, his face drawing up into an unpleasant expression. "We was wrong, o'course."

Their boat scraped bottom a few minutes later. Mullins and Foggerty hopped out to drag it the rest of the way inland. Foggerty offered Emma a hand, and she stepped out onto the pebbly beach of Skull Rock. Before them, a moat of open land separated them from the mountain with no cover to speak of. They'd have to move fast. A lizard skittered out of the way as Emma stepped over a large rock, waving the three men to follow her, their swords at the ready.

Her legs felt weak after so many days at sea but adjusted quickly. Once everyone grew steady, progress across the island was swift. Nothing moved ahead of them on the mountain. Only the lizards, bugs, and rats had noticed their arrival.

It didn't take long to find a way inside the mountain, although the entrance took some climbing to access.

Emma went first, then helped the rest up the steep ridge and into the open tunnel. It extended as far as she could see, off into darkness.

She retrieved the bow off her shoulder and nocked an arrow against the string, sparing a single glance at the stinger on the end, hoping like hell this would work.

"Follow me," she said.

The tunnels formed an elaborate maze. More than once, Emma took a turn only to find a dead end, or to have the passage close up into a gap so ragged and tight there was no hope of squeezing through. Still, they forged on, relying heavily on Skylights' excellent vision in the murk.

Finally, the sound of voices reached her ears.

The high, female tones echoed clearly down the cavern system. Bow ready, Emma's feet picked a slow, cautious path through the tunnel.

It ended in a large, brightly lit chamber. Emma hung back from the entrance and listened to the sirens inside. Their voices were rife with discontent. Emma tried to catch their words as they argued with one another but only caught bits and pieces as the sirens squawked and talked over one another. The prisoners had caused some trouble, she gathered, and no one could agree who was to blame.

Carefully, she inched forward, leaning her head to peer out into the cavern.

The sirens all sat grouped together in a circle, their heads bobbing up and down like chickens as they ate something. Emma's stomach dropped down to her knees, rolling the whole way. She lifted a hand to her mouth and ducked back into the tunnel, the cool press of the rock wall at her back helping to calm the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Skylights," she whispered from behind her hand. He leaned in close to her. She gestured quickly in the direction of the cavern. "Tell me if you can see who it is."

He didn't ask what she meant, just nodded and nudged her aside. She didn't watch him, not wanting to see the expression on his face as he gazed out at the sirens and waited to make out some identifying characteristic of the man they were consuming. _Gods, don't let it be Killian_, she thought.

Skylights leaned back against the wall beside her. Emma's heart skipped a beat as he bent his head close to hers.

"It's Bill," he whispered. "Saw one of his tattoos."

The intense relief that washed over Emma left the sour taste of guilt in its wake. She hadn't wanted it to be any of them, had wanted to get every single man back alive. But if it had been Killian…

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, not wanting to think about it.

"Did you get a count?" she asked.

"Seven. All on the floor around the body."

She had ten arrows. More than enough.

As quiet as possible, she tested her bowstring and shifted until she could once again see the sirens standing beyond the tunnel opening. A nod to her companions let them know to be ready — their cover would be blown not long after her first shot. Each man checked his sword grip and nodded back.

Emma drew her bow.

Her mother had taught her archery, and while Emma had never shown as much promise with a bow as she had with a sword — taking more after her father in that respect — she was a decent shot. And the sirens were close. Large targets. She picked out one with long brown hair, currently sinking her teeth into one of Bill's arms, steadied her arm, and fired.

The arrow buried itself deep in the siren's back, right between her wings.

She screamed and took to the air, startling everyone around her.

Emma already had another arrow nocked.

She fired again, sinking her second shot in just below another siren's breast.

Chaos erupted in the chamber.

Before any of the sirens had figured out what was going on or where the shots were coming from, Emma got off two more: four down, three to go. With the sirens flapping wildly about the chamber, she could no longer make out which ones she had hit and those she hadn't. Then, it no longer mattered. They were spotted.

"For Bill!" she shouted and ran out of the tunnel.

Foggerty, Mullins, and Skylights followed close behind.

They fought like men possessed.

In the enclosed chamber, the sirens couldn't circle, couldn't dive at them the way they had on the ship. They were forced to get within striking distance or run into one another. Emma stuck close to Foggerty, allowing him to provide her cover while she searched for any siren flying along without an arrow sticking out of its feathers.

One landed on the stone floor next to Skylights and tackled him, knocking his sword from his hand.

Emma fired an arrow straight into her rump. With a cry, she took off again, leaving Skylights dazed but unharmed.

"I can't find the last two!" she shouted. The sirens' screaming nearly drowned out her words.

"There!" Skylights pointed up at the top of the chamber, where a narrow portal opened up onto the sky. One small siren was flapping directly toward it.

As Emma moved to the middle of the chamber and lined up the shot, the fainting fish venom started to do its work and the fluttering, wild mass of wings and women blocking her view began to peel away. Right as the siren reached the opening, Emma let the arrow go, her breath catching in her chest as it speared straight up…up...up…until finally finding its way home in the siren's soft belly. She howled and faltered, but climbed through the hole and out of sight.

No concern there. She wouldn't get far.

_One more left._

Emma spun on her heel so that she could press her back to the chamber wall. Sirens fell out of the air all around her to land in unconscious heaps on the floor. She finally spotted the last of the seven — the only one she hadn't managed to hit — and let out a long breath. Foggerty had it pinned to the floor, his sword through her throat. The dead creature's eyes stared open and dull.

With three arrows left and all the sirens accounted for, Emma released a long sigh.

_It worked_. She couldn't believe it.

Foggerty pulled his sword free and walked over to the nearest unconscious siren, pulling her head up off the floor by the hair.

As he moved to slit her throat, Emma shouted, "Whoa! Stop! What are you doing?"

He paused and sent her a baffled look. "We can't just leave 'em like this."

"Like what?"

"Alive!" He made a sweeping gesture. "They don't deserve to live. They killed Bill an' ate him. They're unnatural creatures. We should kill 'em all while we got the chance."

Emma stood prone, not sure how to respond. Foggerty had a valid point: the sirens had killed and would again. She could save countless lives by dispatching them here and now, or condemn just as many to death if she chose to spare them. It made sense to let the pirates slit all of their throats. She could justify it.

Still, it didn't sit right.

Emma heard her mother's voice ringing through her head, countering the brutally strategic sense of dispatching the sirens with the moral argument that killing them now while they lay defenseless would be something uncomfortably close to murder. These creatures, her inner voice pointed out, hadn't killed because they were evil. Distasteful as it may be, they'd killed to eat. Not so different than a pack of wolves. Plus, as far as she knew, killing them might destroy an entire race.

"We've done what we came to do," she said. "It isn't our place to decide whether they deserve to live."

Foggerty snorted. "Says you. Bill was my friend. That makes it _exactly_ my place to decide."

He twisted his hand in the siren's hair and swung his sword back toward her neck.

"I said _no!_" Emma yelled, stopping him again. "You're here under _my_ command, and I've made my decision."

Foggerty scowled at her. "You're not my captain."

"I am today. You got your revenge. One of theirs for one of ours." She nocked a fresh arrow in her bow. "Now, do you want to mutiny over this? Because I can drop you with a dose of fainting fish venom from all the way over here."

Mullins and Skylights stood transfixed by the standoff.

Unblinking, Foggerty stared her down. His sword wavered, testing her, and the bow creaked as she drew it taut.

Then, finally, with a muttered curse he broke eye contact with her and dropped the siren.

"Whatever you say, m'lady."

Emma lowered her bow.

"Good. Now, we should split up and search for our men."

She cast her gaze around the large chamber, taking it in for the first time. Three tunnels snaked off out of it, all of them at ground level. The one they had come in through could be ruled out.

"Two teams. Skylights, go with Mullins. Foggerty, you're with me." Best to keep him close. "Careful, there might still be other sirens about. And don't go far. Meet back here."

They went their separate ways. Together, she and Foggerty paused in front of the tunnel entrance. Then, heart pounding, Emma took the first step inside.

Killian _had_ to be here somewhere.

She looped her bow back over her arm as she walked.

The tunnel grew narrow and dark. Emma brushed her fingers along either side as she walked. Foggerty followed behind her, radiating irritation.

With the adrenaline rush of battle receding, the horror of seeing Bill's body caught up to Emma. Sick all over again, she pinched her eyes shut and followed the wall around a curve, when something knocked her backwards, sending her sprawling into Foggerty, and both of them to the ground.

"Stay where you are, human!" a female voice called out.

Foggerty froze, enthralled.

_Shit. Another siren._

Emma shoved herself back to her feet, pulling free her bow in the same motion.

The siren came at her before she managed to free an arrow from her quiver. The tunnel didn't give them much room to move, so the creature settled for merely slamming Emma into the wall, her gnarled hands gripping hard around Emma's forearms. The bow smashed into the stone as well. A loud crack echoed through the tunnel as the wood splintered.

"My magic doesn't work on you," the siren growled close to her face ."Why?"

Emma recognized the voice now — this was the siren who had taken Killian off the _Jolly Roger_.

"Just lucky, I guess," she said, then kicked hard, her boot connecting with the siren's fragile leg.

It buckled and the siren released Emma in order to catch herself.

Immediately, Emma dropped the broken bow and unsheathed her cutlass, narrowly avoiding Foggerty's paralyzed face in her haste. The confines of the tunnel and darkness worked both for and against her: the siren couldn't fly, but Emma also had little space in which to evade her enemy and none in which to complete a proper strike with her cutlass. Always, the siren seemed within her arm span.

They clashed together, wrestling — Emma's free hand reaching for the siren's naked throat while the siren pushed her bodily into the wall and smashed the wrist of her sword arm against the rock, trying to break her grip.

Emma held firm.

They scrabbled and rolled, a mess of feathers and leather, steel and talons.

"Why have you come here?" the siren demanded.

"You don't know?" Emma planted a foot in the creature's stomach and shoved, but the siren clung to her, refusing to let her put enough distance between them to allow for the use of her sword.

She gave Emma a puzzled look. "Everyone before you focused on repairing their ships. On escape." Her head tilted. "Have you come hoping to save them? Or…" A smile curled her lips. "Or you've come to save _him_. The captain."

Emma didn't admit to anything, just dug the heel of her boot harder into the siren's guts, not even caring how it made the monster's unnatural, clawed hands dig harder into her arms.

"You are a most curious creature," the siren said, her voice low with the effort of her resistance. "A woman in love."

Not wanting to hear any more, Emma redoubled her efforts. Finally, with a grunt and a savage push, she managed to wrench free of the siren's grip on her arms. The siren stumbled away.

Emma knew she'd only have one chance. Quickly, with all of her strength, she stabbed forward with her cutlass, aiming for the heart. The blade met flesh and cut cleanly, ripping a bloody gash between the siren's ribs as she pivoted out of the way.

Sword coated in blood, Emma decided to throw in her lot in with the fainting fish venom and changed tactics. If her plan was going to work, she'd know soon. She just had to stay alive long enough. When the siren grabbed for her, she didn't attempt to take the risky opening her opponent's stance gave her for a potential blow. Instead, she gave ground.

"Afraid?" the siren hissed.

Emma flicked her sword, splattering blood on the rock wall. "Are you?"

The siren sneered. And then they were knotted together again, a test of strength and wills. Emma didn't doubt that she had far more of the latter, but the former was giving her trouble. The siren had the uncanny grip of a falcon, and Emma's whole body was beginning to protest at the battery — at being smashed into the walls, squeezed by the creature's talons, and crushed by her weight. Every time the siren went for her throat Emma struggled to deflect her grasping hands, growing more tired by the minute.

"Foggerty!" she called out, hoping to jar him out of the spell that had frozen him in place.

The siren laughed. "He can't help you, little girl."

Then, right as the thrill of an impending kill began to light up the monster's eyes, her expression fell.

She blinked once — twice. Long and slow. Confused.

Her grip wavered. Her legs trembled.

And then her eyes locked on Emma's.

"What did you…?"

She stumbled. Reached forward to grip the wall. And then she fell, collapsing onto the floor at Emma's feet.

The spell on Foggerty broke instantly.

"Son of a bitch, Princess," he said, sounding impressed despite himself. "You hurt?"

Taking deep breaths to steady herself, Emma rubbed her neck and arms with her free hand.

"Nothing a few days rest won't fix," she said.

The siren looked well and truly out. Emma had no idea how well the fainting fish venom would work after being exposed to the air so long on her sword blade, or how big of a dose the siren might have gotten. To ensure that she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, Emma retrieved one of the arrows from her quiver, bent, and plunged the tip of it into the siren's feathered rump. She'd have a grand time getting the arrow out when she woke back up.

"Let's go find our men and get out of here," Emma said.

Farther down the tunnel, they came upon a deep hole in the cave floor. Not sure what she was going to find, Emma held her breath as she leaned over and peered in.

Turley, Starkey, and Killian stared back up at her.

At the sight of Killian, alive and well, Emma choked back a sob of relief.

"_Emma?_" he cried out, his jaw dropping in stunned awe. "What in blazes are you doing here?"

Foggerty leaned over beside her to look down at the three. "Rescuing your mangy asses. What's it look like?"

They pulled the men up one by one: Starkey first, then Killian. Emma sheathed her cutlass so that she could hold onto his wrist with both hands, her knees braced against the floor. Her breaths came in short, staccato pants — both from exhaustion and excitement — as he climbed up out of the pit and into her arms. Overcome, she held onto him for a moment longer than necessary, clutching his body to hers even after he'd made his way to safety. His heart thudded reassuringly against her ear. The smell of leather and _him_ made her fingers dig into his back.

Killian's arm looped around her, and she realized that she'd held on too long.

"You came to rescue me," he said, rocking her gently back and forth. "Darling. I had no idea you cared."

"I'm not here _just_ for you," Emma said, pushing out of his grip. Behind him, Foggerty and Starkey helped Turley out of the pit.

Killian glanced over his shoulder at them, then back down at her with a knowing smile. "A plausible excuse." He arched an eyebrow, the usual rakish effect somewhat diminished thanks to the bloody gash now bisecting it. "How did you get past the sirens anyway?"

"I'll tell you on the way out. Come on. We don't have much time to spare."

When they passed the unconscious siren, the shaft of an arrow protruding conspicuously from her rear, Killian gave Emma a long, admiring look that set her heart to fluttering. By the time they returned to the large, airy chamber at the heart of the mountain, she'd finished explaining what she'd done. The sight of the seven sirens lying prone in amongst what remained of Bill Jukes brought them all to a pause.

"You will never cease to surprise me, Emma," Killian whispered. "Bloody brilliant."

Mullins and Skylights returned from their search a few seconds later. Their faces lit up upon seeing Killian, Starkey, and Turley, though they quickly schooled their features and greeted the men with handshakes and backslaps.

"Let's go," Emma said.

With a somber farewell to Bill Jukes, they made their way out of the chamber, through the labyrinthine tunnels, back into open air and sunshine. The _Jolly Roger_ sat close to shore — much closer than Emma had left it — its sails white and open, fully mended, waiting for their captain's orders.

The rowboat barely held all seven of them. Emma sat squished between Mullins and Killian, who both manned an oar. With every stroke, Killian's arms pushed against her side. Adrenaline had primed her system — her heart continued to pound, her skin felt flushed all over. She drank in his warmth, his scent, the accented rumble of his voice: all the things that she'd feared lost forever.

It surprised her how much she'd missed him.

Ed raised a cheer for them as they paddled up to the ship.

Immediately, he transformed back into the captain, walking the deck and owning every plank, taking his rightful position at the helm. Emma liked seeing him there again. She didn't mind letting go of command.

"Raise anchor and get us the hell away from this bloody isle, boatswain!"

The crew, a unified front once more, got right to work. They had cleaned up the deck while Emma had been gone. The whole place smelled of lemon and lye, a not entirely unpleasant smell with the salt of the sea breeze layered on top.

Emma braced herself against the rail and watched as the _Jolly Roger_, under full sail, turned and moved swiftly away from Skull Rock.

"It will take most of the night to sail out of their range," Killian said from behind her. "But that is time you gave us. We'll make it out of here. And all because of you, love."

Emma smiled and turned to face him, resting her bottom against the ship's side.

"Is that supposed to be a 'thank you'? Because I think you owe me one, Captain. I did just save your life."

The wind ruffled his hair and his lips parted slightly on a teasing grin. His boots thudded soft as a heartbeat against the deck as he stepped closer.

"My life is worth quite a lot to me, darling." He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I'd thank you properly, but I'm not sure you could handle it."

His gaze locked with hers - challenging, flirtatious - and she knew that he didn't expect her to take the bait, just like every other time he'd used his sexuality to intimidate her.

"Seeing as gratitude is in order," he continued, reaching down to scoop up her hand, "I suppose a kiss would do. But don't fret, Princess. I promise to be a gentleman." He winked and drew the back of her hand up to his mouth.

_Seriously?_

She'd just taken down eight mythical monsters and rescued him from becoming dinner. She was a godsdamned force of nature. She could sure as hell handle a _real_ kiss.

She knew this was all about putting her in her place. He was trying to prove that the power dynamic between them hadn't changed. That he was still the villainous captain and she was still the innocent princess. That the sheer force of his masculinity could keep her in line. It would serve him right, she thought, if she called his bluff. Right here. Right now.

He dropped her hand with a victorious glint in his eyes.

Damn it. This wouldn't do.

Not anymore.

Determined not to let him win another of these innuendo-laced duels, she fisted her hands in the high collar of his black shirt. His cocksure expression wavered for the split second before she yanked him close and sealed her lips over his.

He let out a surprised grunt against her mouth.

Immediately, she realized her mistake. The sound sent a cascade of heat flooding down her spine. She tried to ignore it as they each let out a long breath and swayed into one another. Then Emma felt his hand come up, his fingers moving gently through her hair to cradle her head. And she was gone.

They broke apart long enough to gasp for air, then Emma dove in again. She worked her mouth aggressively across his, aware that she'd been trying to make a point but no longer able to remember what it had been over the heart-pounding, knee-melting, stomach-twisting taste of him.

Nothing had ever felt this good. The fleeting kisses she'd shared with princes and noblemen were pale, meek things compared to this.

His mouth fell open, warm and inviting, then closed over her top lip as his fingers curled around the back of her head, tugging her close. His chest heaved against hers.

If she'd been able to, she'd have sworn at the extra layer of contact. But without breaking the kiss, she could only groan.

It added even more fuel to the fire.

Melting away, needing desperately to remind herself that she was still standing, Emma fisted her fingers so tight into his shirt that her nails dug into her palms through the material. Then, with enormous effort, her body nearly refusing to comply, she pulled away.

Their foreheads rested against one another, noses still touching, and she lacked the power to push him back any further. The kiss had left her out of breath and dizzy.

Killian's head tilted. His thumb brushed her jaw.

"That was…"

He sounded as thunderstruck as she felt.

The whisper touch of his mouth across hers gave her the motivation she needed to break away completely. That had been more than she'd bargained for. _A lot more._

"That was a one time thing," she said, surprised at the roughness of her voice.

Eyes open, she took a step back and tried not to notice the look on his face — stunned, aroused, wrecked beyond measure — or the way that she'd left his lips flushed.

_Gods_. What had she been thinking? Fighting mythical beasts was practically a family tradition. But kissing pirates? Kissing _anyone_ like that when she didn't mean for it to become something more?

"I'm going to go get something to eat," she said, trying like hell to hold herself together. She nearly headed the wrong way before remembering that to get to the galley, she'd have to walk right past him. "Don't follow me."

"As you wish," he murmured.

The tips of his fingers brushed her hand as she passed. The contact jolted her, making her steps falter and her cheeks grow hot, but she powered on — needing privacy. Needing space. Needing something to occupy her mouth for a few minutes on the frail hope that she might be able to forget a single detail of what it had been like to finally kiss the ever-loving-hell out of the handsome pirate captain who had been making her life so complicated.

_It was just a kiss_, she reminded herself all the way to the galley. _Just a kiss._

And, gods help her, she could never let it happen again.


End file.
